skizzen von berlin
by 19q
Summary: season 5 c/q pov sketches, some additional scenes, etc.
1. Chapter 1

Quinn wakes with a startle, stifles a groan. Remembers taking the bullet to the vest the previous night, didn't sleep much on the concrete floor, with an unknown entity in his bed. He's not exactly used to visitors in his dungeon, certainly none that spent the night.

He sits up, reminds himself that this is all really happening. Rises silently, takes the few steps over to check on his captive, but she's still out, which gives him a little time.

Quinn wipes his hand over his face, takes a deep breath. Tells himself it was a long time ago, that it means nothing now. And yet he knows it does. To get her name, at this time.

Two years in Syria. Maybe the darkest he's gone. The effects are everywhere on him, in him. Day after day of beheadings, rapes, murder. Doing the only thing he knows how to do well. Kill after kill. One dead enemy at a time.

And then this deal with Saul, he had been in the perfect frame of mind. Even more cold and calculated than usual, nothing getting underneath the stony exterior. The truth was, Quinn just didn't give a fuck anymore, only saw the futility of it all. He could kill hundreds more and still nothing would be resolved, just more dead, more bereaved, more at war.

So it didn't matter. He didn't want to make the decisions anymore. It was easier to just do his job, put the evidence in the box, hide away in the hole. Almost as bad as Syria, but at least the devastation of war wasn't endlessly in his face, and he still had some purpose. Bringer of death. As always.

Until now.

He looks at her, still sleeping off the sedative. Grinds his teeth a little, remembers sitting in his car, looking at her name.

Now there was a fucking turn of events, Quinn thinks. Just the kind of shit that steps out and threatens the nice dark hole you've dug for yourself.

A test. One that he's determined to pass this time.

He's thought this through a million times in the past two days. Locate, abduct, fake evidence, disappear. And now the first two are done, he should be pleased with his progress.

But she almost killed him the previous night, he has to give her credit for that. And the rest of the plan involves her being awake, actual interaction. Which is the part that's dangerous.

Quinn knows he has to make this all happen before it inevitable occurs. No matter how far down he's gone, how dark he's managed to make things. He knows himself all too well, can only hold it back for so long. Carrie will wake up, do something completely frustrating and, then, suddenly after months of nothingness, a complete lack of emotion in itself, he will find himself caring. Giving a shit.

The fact that she's here, out cold in his shitty bed. That he's watching her sleep as he makes a sandwich. That he has an escape all planned out. It's all evidence of what happens when she's around, his fucking fatal flaw.

It is a very short list, the people in this world he would not kill if ordered to. Especially lately. But the little jolt he felt looking at her name was undeniable.

Carrie told him once offhandedly that he couldn't kill her, no matter the situation. Said it in that 'yeah whatever' way she has. And he remembers being upset that she was right, that he could have such an obvious weakness.

Quinn shakes his head, reminds himself that he's not allowed to remember. Walks away with his sandwich as if not looking at her will help. But the thing is he already knows he's fucked, that the best he can hope for is a little more time alive for the both of them. And if that's to happen, he needs to be rid of her, get back to himself.

So he stands there for a moment, goes through the plan, tells himself she can be on a train by midday, that this problem is transient, can be dealt with. He just has to play it as planned, absolutely cannot let Carrie get to him, get under the armour he's built up.

Of course he hears her stir just then, a little movement from the other 'room'. Puts on his best poker face, goes to meet his fate.

#

Carrie wakes in an unfamiliar place, an uncomfortable position. Her hands are zip-tied to a metal cot and she can't move much. Blinks a few times, suddenly remembers being grabbed from behind, after she thought she had hit her target.

The fear of being held prisoner rises in her as she looks around the dingy industrial building she seems to be in. The manic edge from the day before is mostly gone but Carrie still feels it thrum in her as she looks around for any clues, indications of where she might be. But all she sees is bleak light, the evidence of slightly squalid living.

She hears movement behind her, tries to turn her head to look but only manages to see a blur. Panic starts to rise in her gut as she struggles to get a look at her captor, finally find out who is after her. She searches her memory for any clues from the previous night, wonders if just being here, tied up, means she may as well be dead already.

She keeps looking though, needs to find out what the fuck is going on. Sees someone approach, finally close enough to get a look at. Then has to look twice, convince herself she's not seeing things.

He is absolutely the last person she expects to see, yet relief floods through her as he approaches and Carrie sees it's really him.

"Quinn," she mutters to herself. "Oh thank god."

As unbelievable as it is, it's also somehow true. It really is Quinn, wearing his usual serious look. She sits up, expects him to come and cut her loose her. But instead he just leans up against the counter, grabs a knife, looks at her in a slightly menacing manner.

"Quinn?" she asks, wondering what game he is playing. He doesn't say a word, starts sterilizing the knife with a lighter.

And now she's starting to worry again, doesn't like that he hasn't said anything, hasn't even looked at her. That she's still tied up and has no idea what's going on.

"Quinn, untie me," she demands, knows she's giving him a wild look.

But Quinn still doesn't reply, has an expression on that makes her stomach nervous.

"Quinn, what the fuck is going on?" she tries again, a panicked edge to her voice now.

It's like he's angry with her, cold as he can be. But she hasn't seen him in years, has no reason to be looking at her this way. Suspicious, hard.

"Your name is on a kill list," he finally says, still the same expression on his face.

"I know, I can't figure it out," she replies, not understanding how he's involved in any of this at all.

"Well, you must have done something, pissed off somebody," he says coldly. "Crossed the line somewhere."

And now Carrie realizes something is wrong, thinks this is not the Quinn she remembers. There's something very icy in the way he's looking at her as he preps the knife and she's reminded of the vicious streak in him. Not that he was ever that way with her; but things change, people change.

Carrie tries to get the creeping disturbing thoughts out of her head but it's pretty much impossible with the look on Quinn's face, his slightly aggressive demeanour.

So she finds herself genuinely afraid as he unexpectedly runs the knife against his own palm, leans in with a determined look in his eyes.

"Quinn, Quinn, Quinn" she stutters, still not quite believing she's actually scared of him right now, that she's no longer sure what he's capable of.

"Don't move Carrie," he says, reaches out to grab her face.

"No please," she begs. "No, please, please, please."

"Stop moving, Carrie," he repeats, one hand behind her head, the one he cut up against the side of her face.

Quinn holds onto her tight as he smears his blood all over her cheek, further confuses the hell out of her. Carrie's still completely stunned, unsure of what to make of anything that's happened. But at least it finally gets her attention, makes her think she may not be completely fucked after all.

He looks at her intently as he does it, makes the whole thing even weirder, more fucked up. Then, finally done, he turns around, grabs the knife again. And still she has no idea what this all means, what Quinn has planned. But at least he cuts her loose with the knife,

"I didn't do anything, I have no idea where this is coming from," she says, wants him to understand. Tries to come up with possible scenarios that lead to him having to kill her. Can only think of one thing, yet can't believe Quinn would do it, go through with it.

"I swear, no matter what Dar Adal said," she continues, sure he has to be the one behind the order.

Quinn grabs her by the shoulders, guides her over to the other wall. Looks at her with that same emotionless expression he's been using this whole time.

"Not him," he tells her. "Saul. Saul put your name of the list."

And now he's saying something that makes no fucking sense at all, does not fit into the world as she understands it.

"Saul?" she asks, stunned, unbelieving.

"Close your eyes," Quinn says, pushing her to the floor.

"I don't believe it," Carrie states, cannot see how it could be true. There is bad blood there of course. But this isn't something he would do, she can't accept it. Not Saul. Not after everything they've been through together. And to send Quinn to do it, that was just ridiculous.

"Believe it," Quinn answers sharply, as if it's that easy for people to change, become complete unknowns.

She's starting to wonder if it's true about Quinn, this cold hard edge he's honing. He only vaguely resembles the Quinn she remembers, seems to be missing some key components.

None of it makes any fucking sense, she thinks. Saul trying to kill her, sending Quinn after her. Just being here, in this Berlin dungeon with Quinn, his blood all over her. It's everything she's been trying to get away from, all the fucked up shit from her past.

"Now play fucking dead," Quinn says a bit harshly, a shitty phone in his hands.

In any other circumstance Carrie would say something snarky, drop a nasty remark. But she's so stunned by everything that's happened, is only just catching up to Quinn's plan. So she doesn't fight him, gets that he's doing what he can with the situation he's been presented with. Slumps down and plays dead, hears him snap the shot, tries not to remember he's taking photo evidence of her death.

Once the photo has been taken Carrie opens her eyes, sits up but doesn't stand right away. Sits there and watches as Quinn looks at the photo, wearing his usual scowl.

Finally he glances back at her, gives her that hard look again. But now Carrie's started to get her bearings, has shed a layer of shock.

And she's still scared, doesn't know how any of this will turn out. Away from Frannie, Jonas, suddenly transported back into the middle of her old life where her unfriendly neighbourhood assassin just told her that someone she once loved and trusted is trying to kill her.

Yet, as she looks up at Quinn, Carrie oddly gets a feeling of comfort, a sense that things are not quite as bad as they appear. So she's scared, but not really. She remembers this life keenly, the kind of life where sitting in a derelict church in Berlin wearing Quinn's blood all over her is not necessarily out of the ordinary. She knows how to do this, will be able to figure it out.

And then there's him. Maybe this Quinn isn't exactly the old one, but she's alive and he's risked his own situation for her - so the fundamentals haven't changed. And for a moment Carrie really remembers him, the shit they've been through. Knows that this new steely exterior he's wearing is his only defense; that he puts it on because he thinks he has to, because he thinks he's vulnerable.

She glances up again, can tell Quinn's getting impatient. So Carrie pushes herself to standing, gives him a direct look. Tries to tell him she appreciates what he did, that she knows he's still in there somewhere.


	2. Chapter 2

Carrie walks over to the sink as Quinn pulls out the medical kit, sprays a little disinfectant on his hand.

"Hurry up, we got shit to do," he says brusquely, wants to get things moving.

"What, exactly?" she asks, as if she still doesn't get it. Which seems unlikely, considering who she is.

"Your fallback plan," he replies. "Time to execute it."

Quinn thinks that this is clear, is surprised she hasn't come to the same conclusion herself. When you're on a CIA kill list, it is obviously time to disappear.

"What if I don't have one?" Carrie asks ridiculously, as if this is a real possibility.

Good one, Carrie he thinks, even laughs out loud. There is no way she doesn't have a stash somewhere, an eject button for her life. Two years is awhile, but it's not long enough to forget that things can change in an instant.

"Could be true," she adds, just as she would. Being difficult, as per usual.

"Cut the crap, Carrie," Quinn replies sharply. "It's time to disappear, and fast. This picture buys you time, as long as you keep your head down they won't come after you."

This is all he has been thinking about. Just get her on a train, make sure she's far away, a different person. Safe, and out of his life again.

But of course Carrie changes the subject, doesn't acknowledge his plans at all. Starts asking questions in that the way he knows all too well.

"So, your operation with Saul," she asks. "How does it work?"

"It doesn't matter," Quinn replies, because it doesn't. Has nothing to do with what needs to get done. And he doesn't want her to ask anything, needs her to just follow his plan, get out of town.

But it's Carrie and there is no way to stop her from questioning shit, demanding answers. She finishes washing up, walks over to him.

"Tell me," she demands, exactly as she does, in that way that tells you you've already lost.

"Saul provides a name. I provide proof of death, return to the drop, get another name," he replies, as tersely as possible.

"And last time you went to the drop, you got my name?" she asks, still sounds shocked, hurt.

"I told you that already," Quinn replies, just wants her to stop. Because every word she speaks to him makes him remember a little, all that shit he meant to forget forever.

"Why?" she asks.

"I don't know. I don't wanna know," he states firmly, tries to communicate that he needs her to stop fucking talking to him, asking him questions. But it's that persistent Carrie thing, just how she fucking is.

"But I didn't do anything," she argues, as if it makes any difference at all.

Quinn gets that she has only just found out about this, that she's still trying to process it all. But he needs her to snap out of this mental shock she's in, understand the facts on the ground. And it has to be soon, before he lets her fucking get to him.

"Listen to me, Carrie. Your name was in the box, okay?" he replies sharply. "Probably for something you're not even aware of. Now I know that's hard to hear."

He looks at her hard when he says it, keeps his eyes cold and direct. The facts as she needs to know them, enough to get her on a fucking train.

"I have to talk to Saul," Carrie says, as if she's being obstinate, obtuse on purpose.

You can't fix this, Quinn thinks at her in frustration. And it's not fucking safe to be here anymore.

"For all you know he was given a direct order," he says, tries to make it clear exactly how dead someone wants her to be.

"What's your point?" Carrie asks, and he tries to remember she hasn't thought it through a hundred times already. Or then again, maybe she just doesn't want to face facts.

And that, for sure, was his job. To state the facts, no matter how harsh. So he tells her flat out, as coldly, surely as he can.

"Somebody, somewhere, likely very senior, wants you dead," he states, as explicitly as possible. "If they think you're not dead, they're going to send someone to finish the job. You gotta disappear."

It's clear as day to him, just needs her to get it too. Understand that it's time to put her shit in a bag and get the fuck out of Berlin. Start a new life, learn to forget the past, let him get back to his life in the dark.

#

"Somebody, somewhere, likely very senior, wants you dead," Quinn tells her, looking her dead in the eyes. "If they think you're not dead, they're going to send someone to finish the job. You gotta disappear."

Carrie looks away, tries to process this all in a mind full of questions. None of this makes any sense, she thinks. She hasn't done anything to warrant this.

And yet Quinn is also right, she just doesn't want to believe it yet. To go from her safe, happy life to a life on the run, evading assassination attempts, all in a matter of days. Of course, Carrie thinks to herself. It was just bound to be. As soon as she felt a little settled, a bit safe. She's here in what looks like an abandoned church basement with Quinn, faking her own death. It's too much to think about, deal with at the moment.

The other thing is, it doesn't make any sense. The bombing in Lebanon, sending Quinn to kill her. But Carrie's sure it fits together somewhere, that the answer is not running away. She knows there must be another solution, that something is not right with this scenario.

But then there's the part of her that wonders if she just doesn't want to face it, the fact of what she has to do. What she's always known to be a possibility, due to her previous style of life, her history deep in the game.

When Quinn had asked about the fallback plan, he had sounded so sure. She hates that about him, that he can know her so readily. Two years, she thinks. How long would be enough to live without a backup, a stash just in case?

Because of course she has a escape plan, a way out if everything goes to shit. Still can't imagine living without one even though her day to day life has been completely tranquil for over two years, until the past week. And of course Quinn knew it, knows the life they live, knows who she is underneath her stable boyfriend, her civilian job.

"Time to go get your stash," Quinn says when he finally looks back over at her.

It's only now that everything is really sinking in. That this is for real.

Quinn expects her to disappear, for who know how long. Leave everything she has. Jonas. Frannie. And she knows he's probably right, that he's already taken a risk by doing this, not obeying orders.

So if it really has come down to this, there is something she needs to do first.

Carrie takes a breath, looks up at Quinn. He's wearing that irritated steely expression, clearly just wants to be rid of her.

"There's something I need to do first," she says, dares him to argue.

He asks the obvious question with just his eyes, indicates his impatience with the same look.

"Make a video," she explains "For Frannie."

And even just saying that makes her tremble for a second, making everything just a little more real. Just two days ago she put Frannie on a plane. Now she doesn't know when she'll ever see her daughter again.

Quinn tries to maintain his hard look but his eyes flit with sympathy for just a moment and he doesn't argue, just nods once. Almost looks like he expects it, has thought this through.

Which surprises her in a way, implies more empathy for her situation than he's showing. Because he is clearly doing his best to shut down all emotions, doing his best to play the hardened operative. Shows it with his next comment, the coldness in his tone.

"I have to see it," he says. "Make sure it's clean."

Carrie scowls, knows it's procedure yet doesn't like it. She's still not sure of this Quinn, what the hell is left between them. And this is something she doesn't want him to see, knows she will be raw, completely exposed.

Yet she needs to do it, even if this is the only way. And of anyone, she supposes at least it's Quinn. Somewhat pathetically, he still probably knows her better than almost anyone, has seen her through a lot. Also, she's pretty sure he's about as pleased about the situation as she is, looks touchy and tense as he walks off to go grab a camera.

Leaves her with only her thoughts, the question of what to say.


	3. Chapter 3

Quinn sets up the camera, wonders to himself yet again how the fuck he got into this situation, knows it's his own fucking fault.

From the moment he got her name, he knew this was the endgame, that she would have to disappear. And as far as he was from understanding many basic human norms, he can't deny that she deserves at least a chance to say her piece, that Frannie should get some explanation of what happened.

"Ready?" he asks, flicks it to record.

Quinn sits down across the room, out of her view. Thinks he'd like to invisible right about now. But the best he can do is pretend he's not there.

Carrie starts to talk to the camera, talk to her daughter. And Quinn does his best to ignore what she's saying while listening at the same time. Grounds himself, remembers to be stone.

It's harder than he thinks, listening to her. She has barely started, is just getting the preliminaries down. But still there is something to seeing her exposed in this way, a grieving mother, losing her kid through no real fault of her own. Especially after all the shit she went through to get back to Frannie, when she was broken in Islamabad.

Which of course makes him think of his own kid, another episode in his life he'd like to erase. Somehow still a source of regret, no matter how much he tries to forget.

And it all comes together in an undercurrent of emotion, starts to erodes his walls. Which is why he has to get rid of her quickly, before something foundational collapses.

So Quinn sits there awkwardly, reminds himself that this is the only way, does his best not to feel for her. It's the life she chose to lead, he thinks to himself. The kind of shit she always gets into. And you can't carry something precious around in combat, it's just too obvious a weakness.

But as Carrie films the video Quinn can see that she tried hard, has to give her that. Made a decent go of it, certainly more than he ever managed. Seems to have changed, has softer edges.

And then she says that she's doing everything that she can to get back and it knocks him out of his thoughts, reminds him of his job. Quinn stands up, stops the camera.

"What are you doing?" she asks, annoyed.

"If you're doing everything that you can to get back to her then you're still alive," he explains, thinks she will get the point.

"So?" she replies, clearly not seeing it at all.

And it's not the time to mince words, worry about feelings. He can see that she's still stuck in mental shock, hasn't completely thought the situation through. Otherwise she would see it too. And right now, he needs her to get what's going down, the hard facts of the matter.

"So, if this falls into the wrong hands, you're fucked," he explains, hopes that will be enough.

"I'm not going away forever, just until this situation is resolved," Carrie argues, just as she would, always does.

"How is it getting resolved?" he counters, wants her to come to the realization herself.

"I'm going to figure out who targeted me..." she replies stubbornly. As if she really thinks she can do it, on her own, on the run. A powerful enemy possibly looking for her at every turn. An professional killer at her back and no allies to turn to.

"And they're going to keep come looking for you," Quinn argues, about at the end of his patience with her. He knows this has all happened really fast for her, that for all her operations knowledge, she doesn't understand how an assassin thinks. But there's no time for them to argue about it anymore, for her to get it.

"And I will fix it," she says, as determined as ever.

"And if they think you're still alive they will get to you through Frannie," he says, as directly as he can. Names the clear and awful truth, what she should have realized by now.

And finally he sees that she's starting to get it, rationally understands. But emotionally Carrie's still fighting it, wants to believe there's some around the problem. Is in shock still,a state of denial.

So he just has to do it, get it through the fog of emotion. Tell her what's obvious to him, what she doesn't want to see. And thankfully there's no time to sugarcoat it, because every minute he spends here with her threatens the wall he's built up, an effort of two years. It's as hard a thing as he's ever had to say to her, something she has to understand.

"Carrie," Quinn says, as firmly as he can, looking hard into her eyes. "If you want Frannie to be safe, you have to be dead."

#

She's staring at Quinn blankly and he's telling her that Frannie will never be safe unless she plays dead. And her first reaction is to swear at him, argue and rail.

But Carrie freezes, suddenly sees that he's right, on an operations level. That disappearing means leaving no trace. Even though she still doesn't agree that there's no other way, thinks she will get back to Frannie soon. The video can't show any evidence of life, not if they're going to be safe.

Of course the hardest part is believing it could possibly be true. The facts Quinn has been trying so hard to coldly impart on her. That she could be leaving Frannie forever, that just being alive makes things dangerous for her daughter.

The thought is so devastating Carrie feels a numb shock wash over her, everything he's said finally coming together and freezing her in horrible realization. She looks away, tries to get a hold of her emotions, understand the magnitude of loss she's feeling.

"Jesus," she mutters, shakes her head in sadness, disbelief. Can't believe it's true.

"How'd you feel when you had to leave your kid?" she asks sharply, wonders if there's anything left under this cold wall he's built up.

But if she was looking for understanding, she should have known better. Quinn is all business, like he wants to get her out of his hideout, out of his life.

"Not everyone is fit to be a parent," he replies roughly, looks at her hard.

Carrie's wondering if he's only talking about himself, remembers him telling her how sad it would be to watch her fuck things up with her kid. Then remembers Kabul, Islamabad. How fucked up she had been, how scared she had been of being a mother.

Two years of parenting does not a perfect mother make, Carrie thinks. Especially if it ends up with you abandoning your kid, living an indefinite life on the run.

But then that's why she has to do this. This could be her only chance at letting Frannie know what happened, that she didn't leave of her own choice, that she will love her forever. Even though she knows it won't mean much in the long run, doesn't make up for anything. At least her daughter will know how much she loved her, that she never meant for this to happen.

"Let's do this," Quinn says crisply, presses record. Then sits back down in his seat, looks at his hands.

Carrie takes a moment, tries to collect herself. Then faces the camera, takes a deep breath, tells herself that she is ready for this. Talks to her daughter, tries to be as honest and real as she can be.

Cracks for a moment at the same line, stops herself, has to fight the waves of emotion that suddenly crash through. Takes another breath, tries her best to steady herself, tell herself that saying the words will not necessarily make it true.

And then tells Frannie that she didn't make it back, that things got too dangerous.

Which brings her to the end, to the life they had for two years, real time together. A better life.

"I didn't abandon you," she tells her daughter, knows from experience it's the only thing a child can think when a parent disappears. "I know what that feels like and I would never do that to you. You are the most important, the best thing that I have ever done. You make up for every mistake that I've ever made. And although you probably don't believe it, I love you very very much."

She's crying readily by the end, knows it was impossible to avoid. Turns the camera off and sits there staring, trying to comprehend what just happened.

She tries to tell herself that Frannie will never have to see the video, that she will figure her way out of this. But it's not enough to stem the tide, stop the flow of regretful tears, push away the fear of never seeing her again.

So Carrie sits and stares at the table, weeping silently for her lost life, her abandoned child. Hears Quinn approach and take the camera but doesn't look up, is still caught in the moment.

"We have to get going," Quinn says, sounds all business, like none of this has just happened.

Carrie looks up, bites hard on her lip to regain a little control.

"Jesus, Quinn," she says angrily. "Give me a fucking minute."

His eyes are still stark, cold. But a little surprise registers, and she thinks she even sees a sliver of sympathy slip through. More telling is that he doesn't argue with her, just shoots her a slightly frustrated look before walking away, giving her some space.

She knows it's Quinn's way of apologizing, not much but enough for now. So Carrie tells herself to breathe, that just because she made the video doesn't mean she's never going to see Frannie again. Regardless of what Quinn says, she's still convinced there's another way.

Because there's always another way. And now she's not on her own anymore, has Quinn on her side. Even this colder, harder Quinn is ever useful - technically just saved her life. Which gives her a chance at figuring it all out, getting back to her daughter.

Carrie stifles the last of her tears, wipes her face and tells herself she's ready. Does her best to push the rest of her emotions away, reminds herself what it's like to be on a job. Stands and turns to go, unexpectedly catches Quinn staring at her, a concerned expression on his face.

He recovers quickly, covers it with stoniness. But Carrie knows what she saw, is sure it's still him. And as bad as things seem to be, as cold as Quinn tries to be, it's still somehow reassuring that he's here with her now, that he's still got her back.


	4. Chapter 4

It's silent in the car, pretty usual for them really. Carrie's looking out the window, thinking about her fucked up situation. And Quinn hasn't said anything since asking for the address of her storage locker, seems to be caught up in thoughts of his own.

It doesn't make any sense, Carrie thinks for the millionth time. Why the hell would Saul want her dead? All that shit that happened after Islamabad is long in the past now. Sure he seemed pissed off at her choice of private employer, how they left things at the CIA. But that's not exactly shit that gets you on a kill list, not unless things have changed a fuckload in the two years she's been gone.

And then, even if Saul wanted her dead. Why the fuck would he send Quinn to do it? She thinks it was pretty clear how Quinn looked out for her at every turn those years they were together. And she knows Saul must have seen it - everyone else certainly did. Even obtuse her, in the end.

Could Quinn have changed that much in two years? It's not impossible, she thinks. He always did have a harsh, unforgiving side to him. And Saul could know better than her, especially after all this time.

Carrie looks over, glances at Quinn now, can see he's still doing his best to remain steel, hard and unbendable. Could he really be that cold that Saul would think he'd go through with it? It was just so unlikely.

Because when she looks at him, all she sees is Quinn, trying his hardest not to feel his feelings. She's seen it before, many times, to different degrees. And it explains his current hardness, his desire to quickly get her out of his life. She knows he does not want to care, also that he can't help himself.

Which is why she's still alive, has a chance to escape. Carrie wonders if someone else got her name if she'd already be dead - Frannie without any explanation, Jonas with no idea what happened.

For a moment she wonders what Jonas is doing, knows he must be flipping his shit by now. And of course she feels bad for everything, doesn't even want to think about that day, the choices she made. Putting all of that on him, forcing him into a situation he wasn't equipped to handle. And now she has no way of letting him know she's okay, has to get used to the idea of everyone thinking she's dead.

Two years. A new life. Gone, just like that. Carrie takes a breath, still has a hard time believing it. Tells herself she will make contact with Jonas when it's safe, at least give him some closure. Though she knows at this point it's possible she will never really be able to talk to him again, that this is now the fucked up ending to their relatively normal time together.

From one trip to Lebanon, straight to a manic episode in the woods, armed with a rifle. Carrie shakes her head at the memory, thinks at least she still made a valiant effort, especially if she had almost taken Quinn out.

It's a good thing he'd been wearing a vest, she thinks to herself. Even smirks a bit to know he considered her that dangerous, had taken full precautions. Then loses her amusement when she suddenly realizes for the first time how close it had been, thinks thank god she didn't kill him. Because she would have seriously lost her shit to have found him dead in the woods, stalking her with no explanation.

Carrie looks over again as Quinn turn into a parking spot at the storage facility, watches as he pulls to a stop. Thinks how unlikely it is to be here with him right now. Then gets out of the vehicle, makes another step towards a new life.

#

Carrie's looking through her stash, pulls out stacks of cash, bottles of lithium, an untraceable weapon. No more time for thinking, remembering, she tells herself. If this is it then she has to make sure she has what she needs to be gone a long time. To survive on her own, start up as someone else.

She's set Quinn to looking for spare passports, the best of the bunch. Is immersed in her own searching when he finally says something, quits his silent act.

"You moved to Berlin, got a new job, a new guy. But still kept your fallback plan," he comments, a certain tone in his voice.

Like he's accusing her of something, doesn't believe she's really out. Just like his little snide laugh when she suggested she might not have a fallback plan anymore. It rankles because it's true, because even after two years of relative calm she can't imagine living without a getaway stash.

"So?" Carrie asks, wondering if he has a point, or if he's just trying to get under her skin.

"So I guess you weren't sure your new life was going to work out," Quinn replies, in a manner she can't quite read.

Carrie shakes her head, then turns to look at him. Doesn't want to argue, have to guess at what he means, deal with his testiness. Remembers how quickly things can get personal between them, the friction that comes with every interaction. Tells herself not to fall into that trap, not to get defensive at his insinuations.

"I found a good life here," she replies truthfully, doesn't care if he believes it or not. "I was happy."

And the thing is Carrie really means it. It had been a good life, and in a different way then she had ever experienced before. She had found herself able to be settled, calm, more content than she had ever been before in her adult life. When she was younger she had really needed the adrenaline of the job, the exhilaration of being in the middle of it all. But she meant it when she said she was done with that kind of life, that she had someone to come home to now. Two someones, a family of sorts. Love, in a way she had never experienced it before.

And she really doesn't want to think about any of this right now, everything she's leaving behind. Definitely doesn't need to justify her choices to Quinn. So she turns towards him and changes the subject, puts it back on him.

"Where've you been?" she asks, a bit sharply.

"Syria," he replies, still looking at the passports, avoiding her eyes.

It's not unexpected but it still hits her in the chest, makes her quickly realize what his life has probably been since the last time she saw him. And instantly, whatever irritation she had just felt towards him for questioning her life transforms into concern, guilt.

Two years in Syria. No wonder he's acting as he is, Carrie thinks. And now she remembers that last phone call, figuring out what it was about hours too late. How upset she had been, how she had tried to threaten Dar Adal.

Fuck, she thinks. It's something she has deliberately not thought about in a long time now, part of everything she tried to put behind her.

But now, standing here with him, possibly for the last time, Carrie realizes what she's about to say, that he has to at least know. And it's not the sort of thing she would usually tell him, not even something she fully admits to herself. But it's the truth, and maybe he will hear the apology in it, understand that she didn't just forget about him.

"Quinn, the last two years, everywhere I went I looked for you," she says, as honestly as she can. "I tried to find you. I never stopped thinking about you."

Because she really did still think about him, even here in her new life, where she tried her best to avoid her past. Random memories of Quinn would float by and she would wonder where he was, if he was still alive, if she would ever see him again. Or she'd see someone from a distance, or out of the corner of her eye and she'd have to do a doubletake, make sure it wasn't him.

And now here they are, caught together in a shitty situation again. Quinn lost between war and life. Her own attempt at happiness suddenly torn to bits.

Carrie knows nothing she says will change anything that's happened, that he will try to just shrug it off. Yet she thinks he deserves to know that he was missed, that he was never forgotten. And, despite his hard demeanour, she thinks it will still have an effect, remind him of that undefinable thing between them, that things were different once.

#

"Quinn, the last two years, everywhere I went I looked for you," Carrie says as he refuses to meet her eyes. "I tried to find you. I never stopped thinking about you."

She even sounds sincere, like she actually means it. And instantly Quinn feels his innards freeze solid, his self-defense mechanisms kick in hard.

It's exactly what he does not want to hear, curses at himself for leading himself into this conversation. He should have just stuck with the silent routine, killing off emotions as they threatened to rise to the surface.

But it's like he just can't fucking help himself, all of his self-discipline gone the moment she's back in his life. There was no reason he had to ask about her life, question the path she chose. Except that he wanted to know if she had really managed to do it, find a way out, change her style of living, meet the right guy. Everything he could never do, exactly what he tried to ask of her two years ago.

Fuck. Quinn thinks to himself. He really set himself up to fail.

He supposes he never expected that she would actually say something like that to him, discuss the past at all. Thought that they could just gloss that all over with a mutual understanding of things that didn't need to be talked about.

But Quinn's starting to realize that he doesn't exactly know this Carrie, so open with her emotions, softer and more giving. Watching her make that video for Frannie had been fairly torturous for him, a part of her that he had did not want to see. And now this, for her to say she looked for him, never stopped thinking about him.

It's a straight up attack on his emotional wall and Quinn tells himself to hunker down, perceive it as such. Which means he needs to push it off, defend himself at all costs. Because soon she's going to be on a train to a new life. And he's going to let himself fall to the bottom of a dark hole, try and forget this little episode ever happened.

"Doesn't matter now," he says, finally able to look her way again. Tells himself that he's put it all away, that he just needs to get her to safety before he suffers any more structural damage.

Thankfully Carrie gets the hint, doesn't say anything more as he walks over, sticks the passports in the bag. Then she puts on the wig, asks him how she looks.

Fuck, he thinks again. Bites down on the impulse to actually think about the question, reminds himself that these are not things he's allowed to consider.

Looks her over, tells himself that this isn't the Carrie he knew, that there is nothing left of the little they had. That they are both different people now, on different planes of life. And his only job is to get her safely on a train, say goodbye to his favourite achilles heel before he fucks it up with her yet again.

So Quinn does his best to keep his expression grim, his emotions in check. Tells himself that this is the only way.

"Like someone else," he replies, still trying to convince himself that it's true.


	5. Chapter 5

They start walking away from her storage unit, abandoning the rest of her stuff, the rest of her life. And Carrie still thinks that this can't possibly be it, that she hasn't just initiated her fallback plan, committed herself to starting a life on the run.

Because she's never been one to run away from a problem, would always rather meet it head on, figure her way out. And if taking off means being safe but never seeing Frannie again then she's willing to stay and take the risk. Would rather die trying to figure this out than give up her daughter, never know if she's safe.

Of course Quinn has a point, she should get out of town if she's supposedly dead now. But he's not looking at it the way she is, obviously just wants to get rid of her, move on with his life.

Which is fair enough, she thinks. But she's the one that has to give up her whole life, never see Frannie again. Just thinking about it now makes her nauseous, unsteady, and she suddenly has an impulse to break down, completely give up.

It's really happening, she tells herself. And it's no time to fucking fall apart. She needs to figure something out right now, or live the rest of her life as a different person, always looking out for assassins.

So Carrie tells herself to breathe, to think. And all those questions from before come back, the ones about Saul, about Quinn. It doesn't make any sense, she thinks yet again. Has to talk this through with Quinn, make sure before she actually gets on the train.

"Did you ever see Saul use the drop?" she asks, thinking through other ways her name could have gotten in there.

"Carrie, come on," Quinn says, obviously anxious just to get going, get her out of town.

But they both know she isn't going to stop asking until she's satisfied, that he will eventually give in.

"I need to know," she says firmly, stops walking.

"Yeah, I saw him the first time we set it up," Quinn replies impatiently as he turns to face her.

There it is, she thinks. The possibility. That someone else could know about their operation, switched names.

"Not since?" she asks, just to be sure.

"I'm deniable. No contact authorized. Let's move," Quinn says, starts walking again.

"So you don't know for certain it was Saul who put my name in the box?" she asks as she follows, thinks things through in her head.

"Christ," he mutters, gives her a look.

"Do you or don't you?" she demands. It's fucking important, she thinks. A lot more than getting on a train right now. And Quinn is being obstinate but she knows she just has to work at him, that she can always get him to come around.

"It's Saul's operation, it's all I need to know," he says, clearly trying to end the conversation yet again.

But Carrie's not going to give on this, especially with the stakes at hand. And if there's any chance she can figure it out here, she is not going anywhere.

So she pulls out the most obvious fact of all, the one that Quinn seems to be willfully ignoring. Of all the assets that Saul has in his position, why wouldn't he have sent someone else? To send Quinn to kill her was just cruel on every front, doesn't seem at all like something Saul would do.

"It doesn't make sense," Carrie says emphatically. "I mean maybe Saul changed, maybe I pissed him off. But Saul's smart. Sending you to kill me is not smart. It's fucking stupid, the fact that I'm still alive proves it."

#

Well, Quinn thinks. He has to give her that one. It was clearly fucking stupid to send him to kill her. Obviously he had been more than mildly surprised at finding her name there. But he had said any name in the box would do. And in a way he thought maybe it was a test of his coldness, his dedication.

One he is failing, badly.

Part of him wanted to believe that he had really given his last fuck somewhere in Syria. That caring about shit was something of the past. And then he got her fucking name in that box, as if to teach him some sort of abstruse life lesson, or just to fuck with his head.

Which all lead to this moment, outside her storage locker, trying futilely to end this argument with Carrie so he can put her on a fucking train, know that she's safe.

But the thing is he doesn't ever seem to have a choice in the matter - there was just no stopping her when she got like this. And it doesn't help that he has no immunity to it at all, that he always gives in. Though Quinn figures no one else would do any better, that Carrie somehow always fucking wins.

But obviously he's not going to give her the point, needs her to understand that her fucking life is in danger every minute she stays in Berlin. It doesn't matter who put her name in the box, Quinn thinks. She just needs to get clear before someone figures out he didn't do his job, did quite the opposite in fact.

"You're still a target, either way you look at it," he replies, knows he's losing even as he argues with her.

"Quinn, if Saul didn't put my name in the box then someone's inside your operation," Carrie says. "Any name you get after this, it's not legitimate. Let's test it. Take me to your drop."

Fuck, Quinn thinks. She's right and they both know it. But he can deal with this later, doesn't need her participation. Once she's gone, he'll be able to think clearer, get back to form.

"No, I'll handle it," he says, already knowing it's pointless.

"I'll go with you," Carrie replies, just as he knew she would.

"Get in the car, we're taking you to the train," he says as he turns and starts walking; frustration and anxiety crawling in his gut.

"No," Carrie says, matching strides with him, hollering in his ear.

"Carrie..." he groans, remembering exactly how this goes. Every fucking time.

Carrie keeps at it and he has to admit she's in fine form, hasn't lost a beat.

"You are telling me that someone I trust more than I've ever trusted anyone is trying to kill me and I'm just supposed to accept that, no questions asked? Spend my life on the run, give up my daughter?" she asks fiercely, facing him with that look of determination she gets.

"Quinn, I have to know," she adds, demands it of him with her eyes.

Quinn stands and looks at her, feels something breaking in him. Cracks in the foundation, spreading fast.

Yes he wants her just to accept it, get on a train, be alive and somewhere else. Right now he doesn't give a shit about the security of the operation, who put her name in the box. He will figure that out later, does not need her around to do so. Just needs her to get the fuck out of town and he will feel so much better about everything.

But he knows his goals are different than hers, that he just wants her to be safe while she wants to get her life back, be able to see her kid. And it shouldn't fucking matter to him, but it does. The ferocity of her determination, everything she's giving up.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, Quinn thinks. This is what he is like when he's around her. Even two years spent trying to bury himself under death and violence wasn't enough.

Because he looks at her and he just can't not care. And now it's clear that it's a physical defect that can't be fixed, not even after two years of strict discipline, resistance training.

Yet the hardest thing to accept is that he doesn't really want to fix it, that he likes her as his weakness. That she makes him hate himself and have hope in himself at the same time, reaffirms that there is some humanity left in him.

So really he lost the game before it even started, never really had a chance at all. Just stands there looking at Carrie for another long moment, concern etched in his grey eyes.

Then finally nods his acquiescence, hopes she understands exactly how much he dislikes this, that he really does care.


	6. Chapter 6

Everything happens so fast she doesn't even remember thinking. One second she's watching a mom walk by with a toddler in her arms, thinking about Frannie. And then suddenly she sees a suspicious green car roll to a stop, Quinn leaving the post office, immediately ducking for cover.

Instantly Carrie slams the car into reverse, rams into the back end of the green car just as she hears the first shots, sees Quinn fall to the ground. Part of her realizes he's been hit, but she doesn't even have time to process any worry as her old training kicks in, the muscle memory of emergency situations.

Quinn fires his entire clip into the driver of the car as she leaps out of the car, helps get him off the ground, into the passenger seat. Then, quickly, automatically, Carrie searches the dead man, grabs his phone and takes his photo with slightly shaky hands.

And then before she knows it, she's back in the car, driving away from the scene. Starting to actually process what happened, realize that Quinn really is shot, could be seriously injured.

She looks over at him, concern starting to push through the pure adrenaline that's fueled her so far. Because Quinn does not look good, face clenched in pain. Bleeding all over the place despite trying to put pressure on the wound with his hand.

"I should take you to a hospital," she says, fear starting to rise in her throat as she listens to his laboured shallow breaths.

"No, I'm okay," Quinn replies, as he obviously would. Fucking obstinate as always, even with a bullet in him.

"You are not okay!" she snaps at him, knows how much pain he must be in, has felt it herself. Thinks through her options if he won't go to the hospital, knows she needs to get some real pressure on his wound soon, before he bleeds out next to her.

"We should pull over," she says, trying to push the panic away, tell herself that Quinn's going to be alright despite how things are looking at the moment.

"No, they'll be coming back to get him," he argues, somehow thinking it all through despite the hole in his side, the shock that must be setting in.

"Who was that?" Carrie asks, still unsure of what the fuck just happened, too caught up in everything to think about any of it yet.

"Whoever wants you dead wants me dead," Quinn replies with a groan. "We have to get you to the train station."

"No!" Carrie fires back, sure that he can't be fucking serious. As if she could just get on a train right now. And what, leave him bleeding alone in the car?

"Your photo's in the drop, you'll have your cover. You can go," he says, still trying to play it off like he's fine, not fooling her at all.

It's the kind of thing that makes her want to kiss him and kill him at the same time. Such a Quinn thing to do. Trying to offer his life for her safety, all the while pretending he doesn't care.

Well, she does care, Carrie thinks. He's in trouble, needs her help. And there is no fucking way she is going to let him die on her after just finding him again.

"I am not leaving you," she says, as emphatically as she can. "I'm not."

#

"I am not leaving you," Carrie says in a tone that says it's final. "I'm not."

Quinn turns and looks at her, feels a myriad of things at once. But mostly he thinks fuck, she somehow always knows exactly what to say to him, his every weakness.

He wants her to get on a train, get as far from Berlin as possible. Use the time he's bought her to completely disappear, start a new life, hopefully learn to live without her daughter. It's all he wanted, all along. Like a fucking mantra. Get her to safety, then get on with his life.

It was the best fit for his plans, required the least involvement with her. Would have allowed him to go back to who he is without her, the coldness of his current existence.

But now he's got a fucking bullet hole in him and Carrie's no less stubborn than she ever was. Keeps looking at him with eyes full of worry, so much so that he has to look out the window, try to harden up.

It's fucking impossible with her, Quinn thinks to himself. One day and it's already a shitshow, his armour falling apart. And it doesn't help that he's bleeding a lot, in an immense amount of pain, starting to feel a little light-headed.

Because although most of him wants Carrie gone, holed up somewhere safe, there is still a selfish, deeply-buried sliver that wants exactly this. He doesn't have much left in the world, Quinn thinks. So it means something to hear her say it. And especially so surely, definitively.

It's that thing that drives him crazy about her, in both directions at once. Her determination, that spirit that refuses to die. It's frustrating, exhausting. But it's also inspiring, incredible.

So when she uses it on him, Quinn has no chance. No matter his own will, he hasn't won one on her yet. And if he's being honest with himself, it's because he doesn't want to.

Another rush of pain passes over him, and he groans again, hunkers down in the seat. It's a good thing she's there, he admits to himself. Because he's starting to feel like shit, is starting to suspect that things could be pretty bad.

Carrie looks over, worry scored in her eyes.

"You're gonna be okay, Quinn," she says, reaches out to put her hand on his shoulder.

And he thinks, no, he's not. Everything's gone to shit, his every plan for her, for him. His carefully constructed coldness deconstructed in less than a day.

Quinn has not been this guy in what feels like forever to him. Two years in Syria equal to about ten anywhere else, he figures. So convinced he was done with any other existence, that death was all he ever was, would be again. Even thought he had a realistic shot at this, that he could see her, let her go, come away clean.

But obviously whatever it is in her that brings this out in him is stronger than he remembered, or he's weaker than he thought. Because Quinn finds himself wanting this, her concern, her touch.

It's so unlike him Quinn has a hard time processing it even now. He's been so alone, enclosed in his personal shell, closer to death than life. So far gone he thought he didn't want back.

And then one day, one job, and it all comes flooding back. Two years in the deepest shit. Yet Carrie somehow remains his tether to humanity, even after all this time.


	7. Chapter 7

Carrie looks over at Quinn, puts her hand on his shoulder, not sure if it's to reassure her or him.

He's hunched over in the seat, face covered in cold sweat, blood everywhere. His eyes are closed, but she can tell he's still with her, can see him silently groaning, trying to muffle the pain.

She gives him a little shake, needs him to stay conscious. They're closing in on his hideout and she's going to need his assistance in getting him inside, dealing with the wound.

"Quinn, I need you stay awake for me," she says sharply, tries to stir him to attention.

He snaps to, opens his eyes obediently and she takes it as a poor sign. If Quinn's not arguing with her he must be pretty bad off, she thinks. Otherwise he'd still be telling her to get on a train, saying he's fine.

But at least he's alert as they finally pull into the hideout, able to help her as she clamours around, helps him out of the car.

Arms around him, Carrie supports him as he stumbles along, grunts in pain. He almost falls, but she catches his weight, doesn't let him go. Then she finally gets him to the bed, where she checks his back, sees a lot of blood and an exit wound.

"Good, it went through," Quinn grunts, while she's thinking of everything a bullet could have hit going through him. It's a lot more than a flesh wound, Carrie realizes in half panic. There could be some serious damage in there.

"It could have hit an artery," she says, really thinks he needs a doctor, more than she can do. She should have taken him to a hospital, despite his objections, she thinks again. But also knows why he's refusing, that he will not give in on this.

"I'd have bled out by now," he replies, not really making her feel any better about the situation. But now that they're here, there's nothing she can do except get some drugs into him, wrap him up, hope for the best.

"We need to get some morphine into you," she says, looking at the expression in his face, knows it has to be pretty fucking bad.

Quinn tells her there's a medical kit on the bench and Carrie hurries to grab it as she listens to him gasp in pain, breathe in shallow laboured breaths. She's filling the syringe when he lets out a little moan that hits her in the gut, tells her she's about to lose him.

"Quinn, you with me?" she asks.

He opens his eyes again, and Carrie again sees all the pain he doesn't want to admit to. Knows he's really doing badly if he's letting her see it, has a slightly desperate look in his eyes.

So she deals with that first, shoots the morphine in his hip, as he grunts in pain. Then opens up the pads, tells him they need to put some pressure on his wounds.

She tries to ignore the amount of blood coming from him, puts the pad over his wound and helps him pull himself back up to sitting. He's holding the pads now, putting pressure on and she's pulling to get the bandage around when Quinn starts to slip, drops to her shoulder with another moan.

By the time Carrie finally gets the bandage wrapped tight, he's passed out on her shoulder, his blood-splattered arm wrapped around her tight. She feels him nestle into her, tells herself it's just the morphine kicking in, the shock he's just been through.

But she also knows Quinn, that he wouldn't drop these walls for anyone else, not in any situation. And she remembers all those ways he looked out for her, how he was always there for her. An almost sweet Quinn. Not that she would ever think of him like that. But he had his moments.

And now he's nested in the crook of her shoulder, still hanging onto her tightly. Carrie would like to get him out of his bloody clothing, but it'll be a lot easier with his help. And part of her doesn't want to disturb him yet, wants to let him have a content moment.

She thinks to herself how strange it is to be sitting here, holding a vulnerable Quinn after the day they just had. And she knows he will blame it on the morphine, but Carrie knows it's not only that, that this is what he needs. It's something he would never allow himself, except in this precise circumstance, his every wall knocked down by pain and medication. He would never even admit to the want, probably not even to himself.

But right now, it's a meeting of moments, two years of absence held tight between them. Quinn stirs, settles into her, lets himself have the comfort in being taken care of. And for once, she can give him this, let him know that she won't leave him. Holds onto him tightly, prays that he's going to be okay.

#

Quinn comes to with a most unfamiliar feeling of comfort, safety. For a moment he can't figure out where he is, what is going on. And then he remembers holding the dressings, Carrie wrapping them tight, the pressure making him pass out.

Still not quite conscious, Quinn wonders how long he was out. Then suddenly freezes with the realization that he's still tucked into Carrie's shoulder, holding her tight.

Even more absurdly, she's wrapped her arm around him too, is absently rubbing his back with her thumb. Quinn can feel it now that the pain has dulled from the hole in his side, the morphine finally getting some traction.

And despite the throbbing still present throughout his body, it feels like nothing else. Total release, all of his flaws out in the open, an invitation to hurt him. But also everything he's wanted, yet would never admit to.

It's all so confounding Quinn tries to sit up, resists the urge to just settle up against her, let her take care of him. But his attempt ends up being little more than a weak movement, a pathetic moan. At first he wonders if the sound came from him, then realizes it's the only option. Which then makes him realize that the morphine has only dulled the pain so far, that he is also weak with shock and Carrie's proximity.

And now Quinn remembers making some pretty pitiful noises earlier, wonders what the hell has gotten into him. Not that he wasn't in pain, as bad as he's experienced in a long time. But he has better self-control than that, has standards he expects to meet. His stoicism is his only armour. And rarely does he let it fall even in the most dire of circumstances.

Which these aren't, not yet. Not ideal circumstances by any stretch of the imagination. But he's alive, and Carrie's here. And somehow it is both heaven and hell, the thing he wants so badly, the thing he tries to resist. So he had let it go, slipped out of his need to be steel.

Quinn tells himself it's just the morphine that let him give in. But he knows that really, she's the drug he can't fucking resist. Still, whatever it is, he's in pain, vulnerable. So he had himself have it, her comfort, her concern. And now he's not sure he ever wants to give it back.

Carrie finally notices he's conscious, tells him she needs to get him out of his clothes.

And it's all so unlikely. To wake up in Carrie's arms, in this situation. He would laugh, make a baited comment if he had the energy. But everything's concentrated on pure survival now, he has nothing to spare.

Quinn does his best to sit up, braces himself with one arm, tells himself to fucking breathe. The morphine is doing it's job but he's still cold with sweat, weak, in shock.

He manages to take off half the jacket before Carrie puts her hand on his shoulder to stop him, pulls him toward her, gently peels the rest of it off. Then, slowly, she tugs his bloody t-shirt up over his head as he lifts his arms obediently for her as asked, manages to only gasp in pain minimally.

Shirt off, morphine kicking in hard, Quinn looks at Carrie, can't quite believe this is really happening. But there she is, looking him over with a very worried eye.

"Lie down, Quinn," she says, and it sounds like a fantastic idea, just what he needs.

She hovers over him, all concern, as he lowers himself painfully to the mattress, then tucks the blanket up over him, gently wipes the sweat away from his forehead. And this time Quinn doesn't resist the electricity of the feeling, doesn't try to tell himself he doesn't fucking love it.

"I think I might like you drugged up," Carrie says with the barest of smiles. "You're not so difficult."

Drugged up me knows he fucking likes you, Quinn muses to himself. Difficult or not.

Lying there, somewhere between levels of consciousness, Quinn thinks to himself yet again that she's different now. He's surprised she seems so genuinely concerned about him after all this time, after she'd left the Agency behind, after he'd run off without a word. He hadn't predicted that. But then again she was just ultimately unpredictable, he remembers.

Carrie's different, but the same, Quinn thinks. Just as he is.

She's more open, a bit softer. Yet just as fucking determined, infuriating. And he's closed himself off, shut off all non-essential instincts. But he obviously still has the same weakness, his one fatal flaw.

You fell asleep on her shoulder, Quinn thinks to himself. Fucking hell.

Through dimmed eyes, he watches as Carrie gets cleaned up, washes his blood off her for the second time of the day. And he wonders how this all happened, what fate is trying to say to him.

Really he's been wondering that since sitting in outside the post office, looking at her name. Right then he knew it was a test, even thought he had the right answer. Thought he could do it, get her out without any personal involvement.

And now here he is, bullet to the side, both their lives at risk. Fuck, Carrie, Quinn thinks. This is what life is like when you're in it.

But as he passes out again Quinn has to admit to himself that he's missed it, that he's missed her. That he's glad to be with her, regardless of any trouble to come.

#

Quinn's finally passed out again, still wearing a grimace of pain even in his sleep. Carrie watches him breathe as she wipes his blood off of her yet again, thinks to herself he should be in a hospital, not on a dingy cot in a Berlin dungeon.

But she knows he won't go, doesn't want to attract any attention. Whoever ordered the hit will be looking for any survivors at hospitals, in police files. And maybe realize that he's not the only one who's still alive, come looking for them both.

Carrie wonders if he really thought refusing to go to the hospital was going to lead to her getting on a train. That she would really leave him in the parking lot of the train station bleeding to death.

At least he's consistent, she thinks. About hospitals. And about her.

Carrie sighs, tells herself that he's stubborn as fuck, will survive this. Tries to tell herself the same thing, that she will get through this.

It's barely been a week since Otto insisted on going to Lebanon, since she had a perfectly normal life. Jonas, Frannie, a mostly nine to five job. The most drama she had to deal with was Laura Sutton accusing her of still being CIA.

And now she's on the run, in hiding. Supposedly dead, holed up with another half-dead operative who also now has a target on his back.

Carrie shakes her head, takes a breath. Tells herself she's got this; that they are both going to be fine. Suddenly remembers all the way back to his hospital room Gettysburg, thinks that may have been the first time she realized he was likable after all.

She smiles to herself at the memory, finishes wiping her hands off and remembers about the phone. Takes it out, tells herself it's time to figure out what the hell is going on.

#

Quinn comes to again, tries to blink away the morphine haze in his eyes before remembering what happened, where he is.

He sees that Carrie's just finished washing up, thinks he must not have been out for too long. Then she pulls out the cell phone she grabbed at the scene, looks at the picture she took of their assailant.

It had been quick thinking on her part to have gotten the phone and the picture in the middle of all the action. He had seen the instinct kick into her instantly, watched as she reacted exactly as needed. Just like riding a bike, he thinks to himself. She will never just be a civilian.

Carrie tells him there's only one number saved to the memory of the phone and he tells her to call it.

She dials and listens, gets a look on her face that he's not quite able to read.

"What happened?" he asks after she hangs up the phone, stares at it contemplatively.

Carrie looks at him, clearly thinking hard.

"I'm not sure," she says, doesn't explain any further.

"Come on, Carrie,' Quinn mutters. "Tell me what it was."

But Carrie just gives him a stern look, shakes her head.

"You have more important things to worry about," she says, walking over, looking down at him. "Rest, Quinn."

He looks at her, tries not to waver. But he already knows that he's a lost cause, that there never was any hope for him.

Because Carrie's got that look that says she's back in the game, that shit is on. And he remembers her exactly, all those things he spent two years trying to forget. Knows if someone can figure it out, it's Carrie. But this is exactly what he was trying to avoid, just wanted the easy, safe solution of getting her to disappear. Keep her out of the picture completely.

And yet here he is, looking up at the worry in her face and trying to convince himself he doesn't want this. Again Quinn tells himself it's the drugs, the pain - that he feels like shit, knows his situation is not good. But no matter how much he wants her gone for her own safety, he still has to admit that part of him is really fucking glad that she is there, knows he would never think that about anyone else.

As if to accentuate the point to him, Carrie reaches down, puts her hand on his bare chest. "Sleep, Quinn," she says softly. "I need you to get better."

And this time he doesn't argue, closes his eyes, falls asleep under the ghost of her touch.


	8. Chapter 8

She's been up all night, her mind full of questions, her chest full of worry. Compulsively checking on Quinn to make sure he's still breathing, not bleeding too much. All the while trying to figure out who the voice on the other side of the phone had been, if the thought in her head was at all possible.

Carrie walks over to the bed again, sits next to Quinn, waits to see if he stirs. But he seems to be sleeping comfortably for the moment, looks so peaceful in rest she smiles to herself a little. So deadly, yet so innocent, she thinks. And always so conflicted, with that tenderness he tries to bury, the steel facade he hides behind.

She wonders if it's just the morphine that's put him out, makes him look at ease. Wants to know how concerned she should be about him, knows Quinn won't tell her the truth on the matter. And that he will refuse to go to the hospital even if it's bad, because he doesn't want to blow her cover.

The real problem is Quinn's right, that taking him to the hospital would quickly nullify everything he's just done for her, the time he's bought her.

Not ideal, Carrie thinks tiredly. But if it comes down to it, she will make him go. Use her considerable power of persuasion over him to ensure that he gets the care he needs. Even if she has to shoot him again, or knock him out and call the ambulance.

An unexpected tear escapes as Carrie looks at Quinn and lets her worries flow. She thinks he will be fine, mostly because he has to be. But it's a little too much, to have just found him again, in such a fucked up circumstance. After two years of wondering what happened to him, not even knowing if he was still alive.

Carrie shakes her head at the thought, looks down again at him, is still a bit surprised at how much he suddenly means to her. But she supposes years of wondering, unconsciously looking for him almost ended in losing him again in the flash of an eye. That she can't help but worry about him right now, injured and alone in his lair.

Yet she also remembers back to that day in Islamabad, their standoff on the street, how desperate she was to get him out alive. And for a moment it's so vivid, talking to him on the phone, standing on top of his bomb. She had been willing to do whatever it took that day, anything to bring him home.

And then he came home for her and ran off just as quickly. Just when everything around her shattered and she needed him the most.

So now Carrie thinks maybe he's always meant this much to her, that she just never let herself care about him until things got desperate. Absently runs her hand through his fever-soaked hair a few times, then catches herself in the act and makes herself stop, relieved that he wasn't awake for the gesture.

It's all so crazy, Carrie thinks to herself. Less than a day ago she woke up tied to this same bed, worried that Quinn was going to harm her. He had tried his best to play it cold, she thinks, even had her going for a moment. But of course really he'd saved her life yet again, bought her as much time as he could. Then tried to convince her to leave on a train while he bled to death alone.

And now he looks so vulnerable, all that hardness fallen away. It hadn't exactly taken long either, just a single day, more than enough to wear through his defenses. She gets to see it all with him, Carrie thinks to herself. Knows she might be the only one, thinks she likes it that way.

Then, as if on cue, Quinn makes a low moaning sound as he shifts in his sleep and she sees his eyes flutter open dazedly a few times, before finally settling on her.

And it's so rare to see him so raw, exposed, makes her heart break a little thinking of what he's been through in the last two years, the pain he's suffering now. Makes her realize again that she almost lost him again the day she found him, how fucking sad she would be if that had happened.

#

Quinn comes to making a pathetic groaning noise, but the fire lacing throughout his body makes it impossible to contain the sound, his every nerve tense with pain. Then he hears himself moan again, as if from a far distance, his eyelids fluttering as he tries to gain purchase on consciousness.

Finally his eyes slowly focus on Carrie, see that she's giving him such a tender look Quinn's sure something must be seriously wrong - other than the fact that he feels like shit, thinks he's still bleeding a lot.

But she just gives him a little smile as she sees he's awake, makes him wonder what the hell has gotten into her.

"I'll go get you another shot," she says, giving his shoulder a gentle squeeze.

It sounds like a great idea to him; exactly what he needs to get through the night while trying to convince himself that he'll feel better by morning, that the weakness he's experiencing won't last. Because right now Quinn feels nothing but the burn of every nerve ending, a cold sweat covering his entire body.

Carrie comes back with the needle, leans over and gently jabs it into his hip. Then sits down next to him, idly worrying a pattern into his bicep as he waits for the relief to arrive. Gritting his teeth to resist making pitiful noises, though a few gasps still slip through, make her look at him, all concern.

Quinn thinks about all the ways this situation is wrong, fucked up. She shouldn't even be here listening to him moan, giving a shit about his sorry ass. Is in danger every minute she's in Berlin, should be anywhere but here, dealing with a bullet hole in his side.

And then just the way she's been, softer, kinder. Yet still Carrie, all fire and determination, fucking unstoppable. It's pretty much his worst nightmare and best dream rolled into one, everything he tried to not hope for back then, on their first almost go around.

Right then Carrie looks at him with so much genuine concern, Quinn thinks he can't take it anymore. Knows he doesn't deserve it, that he's failed the same test yet again. How many times can you fuck this up? he asks himself. He had only one job, and still somehow she convinced him to let her stay, all against his best judgement.

And now here she is, still in Berlin, worrying about him when she should be running for her life. Somehow doesn't see that the hole in him is really what he deserves, what comes of living a life in the dark. That he doesn't deserve any compassion, especially not hers.

Finally the morphine settles in and Quinn stops writhing in pain, now only feels the soothing movement of Carries thumb on his skin, thinks he's never felt so cared for. It feels so foreign to give himself up to any vulnerability, to let anyone in this close. So when Carrie reaches to lift up his shirt he still automatically tries to slap her hand away, tries to hide any evidence. But Carrie just shakes her head at him, then firmly takes his hand in hers, pulls his shirt aside with her other hand.

"I need to change the bandages," she says, worry clear in her voice. "You should really be in a hospital, Quinn."

He shakes his head at the hospital comment, thinks she can't possibly mean it. She knows the chance she would be taking, that it's not something he would ever allow.

"No hospital, Carrie," he says, as seriously as he can. "Promise me."

Carrie gives him that look that says nice try, but you've lost already. Eyebrows up, a yeah right shake of her head.

"If you need to go to the hospital, you'll go," Carrie says in a tone that invites no arguing. "I'll take my chances."

"Carrie," he argues, now weak with fear. "You can't do that."

"Quinn, relax," she says, her thumb now on his bare chest. "I won't do it unless I have to, but I'm not going to lose you to this."

It makes him feel shitty yet soothed that she would say this to him, really mean it too. Reminds him again that this new Carrie has dulled her edges, is a little warmer. And of course his well-practiced coldness was no match for her at all, to the point where he doesn't even argue about letting her change the dressings, is willing to accept that much. Partly because he knows he won't win that fight against her, mostly because he thinks he doesn't want to.

Carrie helps him into a sitting position, her arm wrapped firmly around his leans him into her shoulder where he docilely rests his head against her, remembers exactly how comfortable, safe it had felt earlier.

He wouldn't want anyone else to do this for him but it's Carrie, and he can't deny how good it feels to surrender to her touch, let her unwind the soaked bandages, wash the blood off him gently with some antiseptic soap, warm water. And again he's surprised at the softness of her actions, her ability to hold him together and wrap him up all at once.

When she's done Quinn tells himself he can't doze on her shoulder forever - that he can't believe he's doing it at all. Again. But he's also starting to feel worse than ever, even through the morphine. So he lets himself sink into it for another moment longer, wonders how something that feels so good can be such a bad idea.

Carrie indulges him for awhile, rubs his back as he savours her closeness. Then eventually tells him that he should sleep, helps him lie back down slowly.

"You're still bleeding a lot," she says with a sigh. "I'm really worried about you, Quinn."

Quinn tries to pull himself together, remember that he's supposed to be the one taking care of her, not the other way around. That his goal is to get her out of Berlin as quickly as possible, whether he's dying or not.

So he takes a few shallow breaths, gathers his strength, gives it all to the lie he's about to tell. Looks at Carrie with feverish eyes, tries to focus on what's important here.

"I'm okay," he says, as convincingly as he can. "I'll be fine."

Carrie obviously doesn't believe him but also doesn't argue. Just gives him a doubtful look, a soft smile.

"You'd better be," she says with just the slightest waver in her voice. Then puts her hand on his bare chest, holds his heart until he finally sleeps.


	9. Chapter 9

Carrie startles easily out of a light sleep with the first glint of morning, finds she's dozed off in a chair next to Quinn's bed after watching him sleep for much of the night.

She's been so worried all night it's a flood of relief to see that he's still breathing, resting soundly, doesn't seem to be in pain. And for a moment Carrie thinks how he looks so precious in his sleep, then can't believe she's even having the thought. Wonders what's gotten into her, if it's only because Quinn's hurting that she's suddenly finding him so endearing.

Or is it everything about him coming back to her, after two years gone? And this window of openness in him, a crack in his hard shell.

Maybe she's just able to appreciate it more now, Carrie thinks. Ironically because he had been trying so hard to be cold towards her, pretending to be the bad guy he thinks he is. Yet all the while trying to protect her in the only way he knows. He tries so hard to fight it, she thinks. But he has only ever done his best for her, always put her first.

Quinn's eyes flit open as she's watching him, catching her in the act. He gives her a half-awake blink and Carrie shrugs, silently admits she was watching him sleep. Then turns to bring him some water, only to see that he's already fallen back under again.

Carrie puts the water down, shakes him gently on the shoulder. Thinks it takes longer than it should to rouse him, that he's having trouble finding consciousness.

Fuck, she does not like to worry about him, Carrie thinks. Knows he is prone to noble gestures, has self-sacrificing tendencies.

But then Quinn gamely sits up, sips at the water. Emits only a silent gasp or two, then looks at her with a grimace on his face.

"You okay?" he asks through an obvious spasm of pain. And she has to laugh, gives him a 'are you serious' look.

Quinn tries to smirk, doesn't quite make it.

"Really, I'm alright," he says, manages to make it sound half-convincing.

"Bullshit, Quinn," she replies kindly. "Don't lie to me."

He shakes his head, gives her a stern look.

"Don't worry about me, Carrie," he says. "You should really get out of town."

She wonders how many times he's going to say this to her, thinks he can't possibly believe she'd leave him here in this state. Both their lives in danger, assassins seemingly everywhere.

"Jesus, Quinn, how many times do I have to tell you?" she says a bit sharper than she means to. "I'm not leaving you. I have to figure this out, ID this guy. And then we can get you to a hospital and I can get my life back."

"Fuck, Carrie," Quinn mutters tiredly. "You can't be running around Berlin when you're supposed to be dead."

"Well you're not in any shape to do any running and I'm not going anywhere until I find out who put my name in that drop. We need to find out who this guy is," she replies, taking the phone out yet again.

"Fuck," Quinn mutters again. "What are you going to do?"

It's a good question, Carrie thinks. She doesn't have any official connections to take advantage of anymore, doesn't even know who thinks she's dead. Otto might help, but even if he can't she knows she will come up with something. She always does, is resourceful in exactly that way.

"I have a couple of possibilities," she says, not sure if it's true of not. What she knows is she's not going to let it go, not without trying to solve it.

Quinn gives her a doubtful look, and she can tell what he's thinking. That she can't possibly go around asking for favours right now, that she's known to be a hot commodity. A lot of people are looking for her and anyone could betray her, let it out that she's still alive.

But she has to at least try, reach out to the few contacts she has left. Put a name to this shooter, find out who is trying to kill her. Despite any reservations Quinn might have, she's okay with the risks involved.

And right then Quinn exhales a frustrated breath, lets out a low groan. Gives her a look that's half defeat, half hesitation.

"I have an contact," he says, still clearly unsure if he wants to share. Stalls for another moment until she gives him a pointed look, tilts her head to make him get to the point.

"Spill it, or I'll go find my own source," she says, knows it will get him going.

Quinn shakes his head, mutters a muffled fuck.

"I can't believe I'm saying this," he says.

#

Carrie's looking at him expectantly, threatening to just go run around Berlin with no real plan. And of course she's both frustrating and right, as usual. If they can identify the shooter it will go a long way towards finding out who put her name in that box, maybe set her free from all this.

Still of course Quinn can't help but think it would be so much better, easier, cleaner if she just got on that train. If he could do this instead, put himself out there while she stayed safe behind the scenes.

But like Carrie would ever do that, even if he didn't have a bleeding hole in his side.

So he doesn't have much choice, yet is still reluctant to send Carrie to his one asset in Berlin. Knows he won't ever hear the end of it if he ever sees Astrid again.

But she's their best shot, someone he trusts.

"Astrid's here in Berlin," Quinn finally says. "Maybe she can ID our guy."

Carrie gives him a look he can't quite read, irritated yet bemused.

"She really doesn't like me," she replies, a certain gleam in her eyes.

That gets a pained laugh out of him, makes him think no, no she doesn't. Astrid makes it clear in her own way, never fails to take a stab at him about his 'girlfriend' when she can. So he can only imagine what it's like when the two of them talk to each other, neither side willing to give.

"Tell her it's for me," he says, knows it's their only shot. Astrid is not about to do any favours for Carrie, that much he's sure of. But she's never failed to come through for him, has always liked him more than enough.

Carrie arches her eyebrow at him, gives him a suspicious look.

"You think it'll be enough?" she asks.

Quinn thinks it had better be, that he's not letting her take this risk for nothing. Not that he could stop her anyway, ever tell her what to do. And this is their best chance at getting some intel, what she's always been good at.

"I really fucking hope so," he mutters in reply. Is fairly sure Astrid will do it, regardless of her dislike of Carrie - wouldn't send Carrie there if he thought otherwise.

Because Quinn's over pretending that he doesn't have a huge anxiety about her being out in the open, about being in the city at all. His ability to play it cold with her has been completely compromised by his injury, her proximity, the danger she's in. And now all he can think of are all the people that are looking for her, assassins around every corner.

Of course, he thinks to himself. Count on Carrie to start a new normal life only to become the most sought after intelligence asset in Berlin, the target of a high stakes hit.

And now he's incapacitated, feels a lot worse than he's letting on. Which means he both can't help her and has become a liability, a weak link. But at least the discussion has kept her occupied, distracted her enough that she hasn't checked on his wounds again. Which is a good thing because he thinks things are getting worse, feels the fire starting to radiate in him.

So Quinn tells Carrie where to find Astrid, thinks at least this will give him time to self-assess his situation, see how bad things really are. Then lays there anxiously as she gets ready, puts on the ridiculous wig. Tries to swallow his worry as he watches her walk out the door, tells himself she will be back soon.


	10. Chapter 10

Carrie's been gone for awhile, what seems like an eternity. Quinn lays in the bed thinking of everything that could have gone wrong, while trying to gather the strength to get up, take a piss, assess the damage.

He feels like his mind working in overdrive is what's making him sweat excessively, tries not to think about the other option - that infection's already set in. But Quinn's a soldier, has seen a lot of wounds go bad. So there's only so long he can ignore the thought, blindly hope that he isn't as fucked up as he feels.

By the time he's managed to push himself to sitting, Quinn's gone through every possibility of disaster at least three times, wonders how long to give it before he attempts to go find her.

Not that he'd get very far considering how weak he feels. But he would still try, at least go to Astrid's, see if Carrie had even made it there.

Finally Quinn pushes himself to his feet, takes a moment to steady himself before starting the slow shuffle to the toilet. Manages to make it half the distance and pick up his gun along the way, feels better just with the heft of the weapon in his hand. But then the bullet wound starts screaming at him and he's almost doubled-over in pain by the time he makes it to the john, has to steady himself for awhile before managing to relieve himself.

Mission number one accomplished, he takes a long break, leaning against a wall for support. Thinks to himself he's really fucked it up this time - is really not feeling so good, and a hospital is out of the question.

Quinn takes a deep breath, gathers his strength again. Makes the slow agonizing trek over to the mirror, grabs a smaller mirror along the way to help with the process.

Standing at the mirror he starts by slowly shrugging his blood-covered shirt off on his injured side, wincing as every movement sends a sharp throbbing pain throughout his body. He wavers slightly, has to catch himself against the table for another moment before managing to peel off the blood soaked bandages, the soppy medical dressing covering the wound. Grimaces in pain again as he pulls the wet pad off and feels another surge of searing heat press through his torso. Picks up the little mirror, angles it so he can examine the exit wound.

It looks extremely angry and bloody, likely already infected. Quinn groans inwardly at the sight, then feels a wave of weakness flood through him at the effort of it all. He leans against the table, takes a few pained breaths as the fever sweat drips off his forehead. Thinks how he's glad to have checked it out for himself first; knows he's going to have to try to hide it if Carrie ever makes it back.

Almost exactly on cue, he hears the door rattle, the lock turning. Which either means Carrie's finally back or something's gone to shit, his hideout compromised.

Quinn picks up his gun, wipes the sweat off his forehead as he pulls his shirt back on, hoping to hide the wound. Then he quietly steps into position, barely able support his own weight, sweating like crazy and covered in pain. Has to hold onto a metal beam for support, as he aims the gun into the entryway, in case it isn't Carrie.

He's holding his breath as she walks into the room, turns and gives him an appraising look.

"He rises," she says with a little glad smile and a nod, in a way that is so Carrie it makes a little dent in him.

Quinn breathes a silent sigh of relief, thanks a god he doesn't really believe in. All of his anxieties of her being captured and killed suddenly gone - at least for the moment.

"You were gone a long time," he comments, wonders if something went wrong.

"Apparently Astrid likes to sleep in," Carrie replies. "I waited for almost an hour."

She walks into the other room, unties her hair and puts her bag down. Quinn follows, does his best to maintain form, stay upright and functional.

"Was she able to ID our guy?" he asks. Walks up and stands beside her, puts the gun down.

"Not off the top of her head," Carrie replies. "But she said she'd do some looking. For your sake."

Quinn thinks to himself how talking to Carrie about Astrid is something he never thought he'd be doing, that the mere fact they know about each other is already unlikely in the extreme. And yet part of him hopes that Carrie knows exactly why Astrid dislikes her, is so territorial about him.

"She likes me," Quinn says. "What can I say."

"Her one redeeming quality as far as I can tell," Carrie replies, in a tone that expresses exactly what she thinks of all of Astrid's other qualities.

Quinn almost laughs aloud thinking about Astrid and Carrie talking to each other, can only imagine the level of disdain on both sides. Then groans loudly and has to catch himself on the table as a spasm of pain shoots through him, weakens him at the knees.

Instantly Carrie's hands are all over him, on his shoulders, pressed against the bare skin of his neck. And he thinks fuck, he has to stay strong, resist the desire to fall into her touch.

"Jesus Quinn, you're burning up," she says, one hand still on his neck, the other running down his back.

"I'm fine," he lies, knows she isn't going to buy it.

"No, you are not," Carrie replies, turning to look at him, grabbing him under the shoulder.

And then he knows he's outed, that Carrie's about to take over. Thinks how he didn't want to get her involved in this, that there's not a hell of a lot she can do for him now. But then again it is Carrie, full of semi-magical abilities, endless determination.

#

"I'm fine," Quinn says, still trying to play his role.

And Carrie thinks fuck. He is really not fine at all, is shaky and hot beneath her hands. Has probably been faking good all along, the willful fucker that he is.

"No you are not," she says, turns to look at him with a worried eye.

She grabs him under the shoulder, steadies him as he moves towards the bed, almost going down as he stumbles. She manages to hold him up with a hand on his chest, then lower him into the bed gently, until he's curled up in pain, his expression making her innards crawl.

"Let me see," she says, as Quinn still tries to squirm, resist.

"No," he gasps, in that way that makes her scared. She knows it must be really bad if he's expressing this much pain, exposing weakness.

"Let me see," she repeats, feels him relent under her touch.

Carrie lifts his shirt, ominously already soaked in blood. Sees that the wound is a mess, dark and bloody, probably infected.

"That does not look good," she says, worry really starting to build.

"I'm first stage septic," Quinn mutters. "Fuck me."

Carrie thinks it's pretty ominous if Quinn's admitting that it's bad, realizes she's quickly running out of options.

"Tell me what to do," she says, wonders if he has any bright ideas, tricks up his sleeve.

But when Quinn suggests armed robbery, blinks at her with feverish eyes Carrie knows it's time to pull out the last card she has, the one thing short of taking him to a hospital. Because she doesn't want to have that argument yet, knows it will be a spectacular one if it comes to it.

It's not like she's exactly looking forward to this option either though, has been avoiding calling Jonas for more than one reason. How they left things, the shit she said to him, both of them running off pissed off. And up until now she'd still been thinking she could just fix it all, set it back to normal before having to deal with him again. But now there's no choice, Quinn needs help now and she knows Jonas can get the supplies.

So she turns to go get her phone, thinks about what she's going to say to him, knows she's going to have to do a good job of it.

"What are you doing?" Quinn asks in the pained raspy tone he's developed.

"What I should have done last night," she says. "I'm calling Jonas. His sister's a doctor."

Carrie grabs her phone from her bag, looks at it for a long second, exhales all her anxieties. Desperate times call for desperate measures, she tells herself as she dials, puts the phone up to her ear.

Jonas answers on the second ring, says her name in a tone of half panic half concern.

"Yeah, it's me," she replies, doesn't bother keeping the waver out of her voice.

"What the hell, Carrie, where have you been?" he asks, now somewhere between worry and anger.

"Listen, Jonas," she says, ignoring his question entirely. "I need your help. It's an emergency. I'll explain everything later."

"What?" Jonas asks, sounds completely bewildered. "What emergency?"

"I need medical supplies," she says, a little desperation in her tone. "IV antibiotics, saline, wound dressings. Can you ask your sister to get it for you? I need it as soon as possible."

"What?" Jonas exclaims yet again, surprise changing to panic. "Are you hurt? What the hell happened?"

Carrie bites her lip, knows she will just have to go for it, suffer the consequences later. There's no way Jonas will do this unless she lies, and she doesn't have the time to explain anyway, even if she could. So she does what she has to do, what Quinn needs her to do.

"Yes, I'm hurt," she says, thinking to herself she just wants him to get moving, get the supplies from his sister. "Pretty seriously. I'll tell you what happened when you get here okay? How soon can you get the stuff from your sister?"

Jonas is definitely in panic mode now, tells her he will get the supplies right away, takes down the address.

"I'll be there as soon as I can," he promises, the worry obvious in his voice. "Tell me you're going to be okay, Carrie."

Carrie takes a deep breath, closes her eyes. Thinks what she's about to say is a lie in every way. Because physically she will probably be okay, but in every other way she thinks maybe she won't be okay ever again.

"I'll be okay, Jonas," she says as sincerely as she can. "Just come as fast you can. Please."

With that she hangs up, drops her phone back into her bag tiredly. Thinks how pissed off Jonas is going to be when he gets there, then remembers it's worth it a thousand times over if it ends up saving Quinn's life.

With that Carrie shakes her head, accepts that she's just going to have to deal with it when Jonas shows up. Walks back over to Quinn, who's still huddled in the fetal position on the bed, clearly in intense pain.

And ever since he's been wounded Carrie's found she can't quite keep her hands off him, wants to remove his pain with just her touch. It's not like her, especially not with Quinn. But she thinks he really needs someone right now, that he is somehow both harder and more fragile than before.

So Carrie doesn't resist her urge, puts a hand on Quinn's shoulder, the other on his back. Tries to hold him together as he shudders in pain, tells herself not to panic about how feverish he feels under her palms, gives him an exasperated sigh when he tries to argue with her through gritted teeth, obvious bouts of pain.

"You didn't have to do that," he mutters through a gasp. Looks at her with those fluttery eyelashes, in that way that makes him seem much more innocent than he is.

"It was that or the hospital," she replies, figures that will put the argument to rest.

Quinn scowls and it turns into another grimace of pain, tension in his skin.

"You know that can't happen," he growls, obviously still ready to do battle even in his weakened condition.

But Carrie just shakes her head, gives him a worried smile.

"Just get better okay, Quinn?" she says, patting him on the shoulder lightly. "Then we won't have to worry about it."

Quinn nods and winces, then convulses and moans for a long tense moment before finally settling again under her hands, a slight tremor in his body.

Carrie looks at him, trying her best not to freak out. He's not doing well, eyes fluttering yet again.

But then he looks up and blinks a couple times, gives her a little smirk.

"He's going to be really pissed off when he gets here," he says, somehow managing to look wide eyed and sincere while still being his sassy self.

And that at least makes her half-laugh, look at him sardonically.

"Yeah he will," Carrie replies with a sarcastic oh-shit look, a little nod.

Quinn smiles weakly at that and she realizes that she's started absently rubbing his back, that he's almost fallen asleep under her thumb.

And there's something about a sleepy Quinn that makes her remember how endearing he can be. But right now all she can think of is Quinn's last comment, how pissed Jonas will be.

Because there's no doubt he's going to be angry. Especially when he gets a look at Quinn.


	11. Chapter 11

Carrie's thumb traces a path on his burning skin, the proximity of her presence completely doing him in. Quinn grunts in pain, shudders in the fetal position.

Her other hand drifts to his brow, rests against his skin for a long moment.

"God, you are on fire," she says, worry clear in his voice. "You should drink some water."

Quinn pulls together all his energy, shakes his head.

"I'm okay," he replies weakly.

But Carrie's already gone to get him water he's not sure he can handle. Comes back with a cup, the same concerned look.

She sits on the bed, puts her hand on his back to steady him as Quinn tries to grasp the glass, bring it to his mouth.

He manages a couple of sips, but the effort just exacerbates the pain and Carrie has to catch the glass as he lets it slip, shudders with full body despair.

She puts the water aside, then her hand moves to the nape of his neck again, sends current down his spine. And once again Quinn wonders how it's possible for him to feel so shitty yet soothed. It is alarming how touchy she's being with him, almost worth the extreme suffering, the searing through his entire body.

Even now he still wonders at the impossibility of it all. Carrie here, acting as if she actually cares; which really just means things are really bad. Yet she definitely shouldn't be there at all, especially shouldn't be worrying about him.

"If things get worse you have to go," he says with a gasp, looking at her as sincerely as he can.

But Carrie just raises her eyebrows, gives him a 'yeah sure' expression.

"I'll go if you go to the hospital," she replies predictably.

Fuck, Quinn thinks. She still knows how to end an argument before it's even started, shut down any discussion.

"Carrie," he groans, tries to express his frustration as best he can.

Yet Quinn knows there was never any hope, that he rarely wins with her. And with the way she's holding him, he's going to lose every time.

So he's not upset when Carrie just shakes her head at him, gives him a small smile. And both of them are quiet for awhile after that, words unnecessary to express everything he's feeling. The contrary experiences of pleasure and pain, the soothing rhythm of Carrie rubbing his back.

He's almost drifted into unconsciousness when he hears Carrie sigh, pat his back anxiously.

"I'm glad you're back," she says quietly, almost as if she doesn't mean for him to hear it.

"A lot of good it's done you," Quinn mutters, just managing to open his eyes as he responds. His whole plan of ensuring her safety, getting her out of town had completely been compromised in a single day. And now she's stuck caring for him, dealing with a bullet wound that's his own fucking fault.

But Carrie shakes her head, keeps looking at him so fondly he can barely stand it.

"I'd be dead if not for you," she replies.

"Or there'd just be a dead guy in the woods," Quinn says with a pained laugh.

Carrie smiles wryly at that, raises her eyebrows at him.

"Yeah, sorry about that," she says with a little apologetic tilt of her head.

It's another one of those mannerisms that he's spent two years trying to forget, one of the many things he fucking loves about her.

"It was a good shot," he replies, really means it too. She probably would have killed anyone else coming to look for her, just another one of those thing he can't help but love.

Carrie smiles again at that, takes the compliment with a shrug. Then lifts the back of his shirt, moves her thumb gently over the bruise that she gave him. Doesn't say anything, expresses everything through the compassion in her touch.

It's almost sensory overload, too much of something he'd never expected. But there's nothing he can do to fight it, especially with the rising darkness, the weakness throughout.

Quinn feels himself slipping off, closes his eyes and savours her closeness. Is almost gone when he hears her mutter again, as if only to herself.

"I missed you," she whispers, an almost silent confession.

Fuck Carrie, you're not supposed to say shit like that, Quinn thinks as he drifts into the dark. You don't even know how I've missed you, no matter how much I've tried to forget.

"Please don't disappear again," she adds, the sadness in her tone making his heart freeze.

And it's a good thing he's way past consciousness, couldn't reply if he wanted to. Because it's the one thing he can't promise, what he always resorts to in desperate times.

But as he finally slips under, Quinn tells himself that he can still promise to do right by her, will do whatever he can to make sure she remains safe. Then falls into the darkness, Carrie in his every cell.

#

Quinn's sleeping again, looks so peaceful she can almost convince herself not to worry. But not really. Because Carrie knows he's not doing well at all, continues to burn under her touch.

She gets up to check her phone, wonder when Jonas is going to get there. Stares at the phone for a long minute, then tells herself to calm down, that there's nothing she can do to accelerate the process.

Goes back to sit with Quinn, thinks it's been a long while since she's seen him stir.

Carrie sits down next to him, her hand on his shoulder.

"Quinn?" she says, giving him a little shake.

He doesn't respond and she tries again, gives him another shake.

"Quinn?" she repeats, gets no reaction at all.

Carrie looks for any sign of consciousness, gives him a little slap on his cheek but even that gets nothing from him. Which is not a good sign, amps up her anxiety considerably. And the best she can do is press her fingers nervously into him, try to tell him she's there, that she's really fucking worried about him.

Finally there's a knock at the door and Carrie hurries to open it, meet her immediate fate.

"Come in, quickly," she says to Jonas as he picks up the bag of supplies.

But he stalls in the doorway, looks her over, realizes he was lied to.

"You don't look hurt," Jonas says, accusingly. "You said you were hurt."

Yeah, there's that, Carrie thinks. But for now she needs to get some antibiotics into Quinn. Fast. So she preps herself to take his anger, just let him have it out. As long as it gets her what she needs.

"Please, it's not safe out there," she says, closing the door as he finally comes inside.

Jonas turns, looks as pissed off as he ever gets.

"You said this was for you," he says.

"Well, it's not," Carrie replies, reaching for the supplies.

Jonas pulls them away, something she hadn't quite anticipated, not what she needs right now.

"Hey!" she says, startled by his reaction.

"Last time I saw you, you were running into the woods with a rifle, screaming about assassins and avenging angels and then, nothing. Three days nothing. And then you call and tell me you're injured, seriously injured. What the fuck, Carrie?" Jonas says, as she figured he would. It's fair and she knows it. But she can deal with it all after she sticks an IV into Quinn.

"You're right," Carrie replies, has nothing better to say.

"On top of everything else I'm putting my sister's medical license at risk here," Jonas continues, obviously trying to make an impact on her.

But right now she doesn't really give a shit about medical licenses, lies she had to tell. She needs Jonas to get the severity of the situation and adapt to it now.

"Okay, there is a guy in the next room, he's been shot," she says, figures that will get his attention. "If we don't get an IV into him now he's not going to make it."

"Who is he?" Jonas asks.

Good question, Carrie thinks, stutters in her thoughts before answering.

"He's a friend," she finally says, gets a skeptical look from Jonas.

"A colleague, okay," she adds, trying to think of ways to describe Quinn. "I'll explain later, I promise."

"Why should I do anything for you?" Jonas says, obviously still pissed off.

And Carrie doesn't have an answer for that, can't think of anything Jonas owes her. Especially after everything she's just done to him. But she also knows he won't stop her from taking the supplies, that he doesn't have that kind of combative will. And right now, that's all that she cares about.

"I don't know," she finally says, looks at him in a way that says she's sorry, but she's got another priority at the moment.

"You got the antibiotics?" she asks, dares him to say no.

But of course Jonas caves, nods and follows her into the other room. Is staring at Quinn, out cold on the bed with an appraising look when she tells him to wash his hands, that she's going to need his help.

Thankfully Jonas is back to being pliable, nods and washes his hands while she looks through the supplies then washes her own hands, puts on gloves.

Carrie takes a deep breath, reminds herself she knows how to do this. Hangs the bags of antibiotics, saline on some industrial piping.

She gives Quinn another little shake, just to make sure he's still out. Thinks that's a good thing considering her skill level at inserting IVs, the slight shake she's got going on just thinking about it. Carrie pauses for a second, nervously runs her thumb nervously against the back of Quinn's hand. Then remembers that Jonas is watching, that the IV needs to get in right away.

Focus, she tells herself. Stop just worrying about him and get the job done.

Then, with Jonas' skeptical eyes all over her, Carrie picks up the needle, sticks it into Quinn's hand.


	12. Chapter 12

Carrie finishes washing the last traces of red off of Quinn, thinks to herself she's had far too much interaction with his blood lately. Then gently wipes his wounds clean, presses some new dressings on.

She starts with his back, the exit wound looking much worse than the entry. Covers it in multiple layers of padding, turns and gets a strip of tape from Jonas.

Jonas hasn't really said anything to her since they argued at the door and she wonders how long until he asks for an explanation now that she's not otherwise occupied with starting the IV, cleaning Quinn up.

Of course it doesn't take long at all. Jonas hands her a second piece of tape, then gives her a stern look.

"So who is he?" he asks. "You said you would explain."

Carrie looks at him, knows he deserves something of an answer at least.

"We used to work together," she says, because that's the only real hard truth she can come up with. She never even really thought of Quinn as an actual friend, maybe because their lives never afforded them normal friendship situations. Just a guy she relied on, that she cared about, that always came through for her. Well. Except when he took off in the end. Like everyone else.

"At the CIA?" Jonas asks.

"Yes," she replies, wonders how much she's able to tell.

"So why isn't he in a hospital? And why are you the one dealing with this instead of the CIA?" Jonas asks.

Carrie puts another piece of tape on, runs her hands over his burning skin to press it tight. Looks at Quinn somewhat fondly, shakes her head in exasperation.

"He's here because he's a stubborn bastard and going to the hospital would blow my cover," she explains, as best she can. "And he's... unofficial. So he has no support from the Agency."

"What do you mean, your cover?" Jonas asks, looks like his head is going to explode. "Carrie, this is ridiculous. You sound like you're in a spy movie."

Carrie shakes her head, thinks yeah, well they probably based those fucking spy movies on my life. Wonders what is the least amount of information she can give him and still get him to go along with what's happening.

"Look, all you need to know is he saved my life," Carrie explains. "He was sent to kill me and he didn't. He faked my death so I could disappear but I convinced him to let me stay and then someone tried to kill him."

"And why didn't you take him to the hospital?"

"He wouldn't go, whoever is trying to kill us will be looking around for him in hospitals. So I'm all he's got right now," she says, finishing the dressing on Quinn's wound and brushing her hand up against his brow.

Jonas is quiet for a moment and she can feel his eyes on her. But she can't help that her concern for Quinn is coming out in a need to touch him, make sure he's still there.

Finally Carrie looks up, sees that Jonas is giving her an odd look.

"How come I've never heard of him before?" he asks. "You seem to care a lot about him."

Carrie takes a breath, thinks fuck.

"He's classified," she says, trying to stonewall.

"Carrie," Jonas says, in a tone that indicates approaching anger. "Come on."

"What?" she replies, not actually sure what Jonas is getting at. There's really nothing else to say, she thinks. They worked together and he was always good to her. It's most of the truth, enough.

"He's the one you've been looking for," Jonas says, sounds both accusing and sure. "The one you sometimes chase in your dreams."

And now she's on the defensive, didn't see this coming at all. Wonders where Jonas is even getting this from, thinks he must be being paranoid.

"I don't know what you're talking about, Jonas," Carrie replies, gives him her best 'what the fuck' look.

"Everywhere we go, you look for someone. Especially when we travel. I may not be CIA but I can see it," he responds, looks at her darkly.

Fuck, Carrie thinks. Of course she did it, unconsciously by now. Scanned her surroundings, including any likely candidates. Partly her training, partly her sense of loss. And, of all people, he could have really been anywhere, so she had to look. Just in case.

She just didn't know that Jonas had noticed, that he thought anything of it. Or that he realized she had dreams about chasing Quinn through endless hellholes, always a step behind him and impending disaster.

But what the hell could she say now? Something to deflect.

"Yeah, well. He did disappear," she says. "I couldn't help but wonder. And it's not what you think."

Jonas nods in a 'yeah sure' kind of way, looks at her tiredly.

"So now he's back and was supposed to kill you? Gets shot and won't go to the hospital? This is crazy, Carrie," he says, as if she doesn't already know it.

Yet the thing is it's crazy and it's not. In a way, the situation started feeling more normal once Quinn was in the picture. This is the sort of thing that happens to unite them - dire situations with little support. Insanity on every front, possible death around every corner.

So Carrie looks at Jonas, shakes her head in a whatever kind of way. Shrugs and exhales a little exasperation.

"Actually, for us, this is kind of par for the course," she says.

Jonas looks at her as if she's from another planet and Carrie just shrugs again, tries to remember that of course he doesn't get it, thinks it's insane. Because it is definitely insane. Her and Quinn alone. Him with an infected bullet hole, her with nothing but a wig and a prayer. But still she believes she can do it, that she can figure it out. Save them both.

Jonas shakes his head, gives her a strange look while she turns back to look at Quinn, starts dressing the entry wound on his torso. And thankfully Jonas is quiet for awhile, just passes her tape as she wonders what he's thinking, if he's going to be able to adapt to the situation.

After awhile he asks her what she'll do if Quinn doesn't get better and she doesn't want to think about it, has to believe that the IV and new bandaging will be enough. Because otherwise it will involve a battle with Quinn, who would probably just try to run the first chance he got.

That is if he regains consciousness, she thinks to herself before remembering to shut off that thought. It's just easier to believe that Quinn will be okay because she needs him to be. And he's yet to fail her.

"He will," she replies, tries to sound sure.

"But if he doesn't?" Jonas persists. "Will you take him to the hospital then?"

Not unless there are no other options, Carrie thinks. And she can at least think of one.

"Would your sister come and examine him first?" she asks. If she can get a medical opinion on Quinn, or even just some help with his wounds it could be enough, she thinks.

Jonas looks down, kind of shakes his head.

"She might if I asked her to," he says. "But I won't involve my family in this anymore."

Carrie nods, isn't particularly surprised. It's the way Jonas is, bound by the rules of so called normal life, civilian society.

"Okay," she replies. "I get that."

"I won't be involved anymore either," he continues.

Carrie looks at him, unsure of what he means. That he's done with this? With her?

Really her entire life is at risk right now, the chance of figuring everything out and resuming her regular Berlin existence seeming less and less likely. At this point she either figures out who's trying to kill her and eliminates the problem or she disappears forever. But either way her life with Jonas has already been severely compromised and is possibly unrepairable.

He's just not made to take shit like this, she thinks. It's part of what she loved about him right up until the shit hit the fan.

"You've done more than enough, Jonas," she says, means it. She's put him through a lot, attacked him, lied to him, used him. All those 'old' Carrie things. "Thank you. I mean that."

"No one should have to live like this," he replies, sounds upset still.

"I just said you don't have to," she answers, throwing a blanket over Quinn and then turning to avoid Jonas' look.

"I'm not talking about me," he says.

Carrie thinks fuck, she's not sure she wants to have this conversation right now.

"Well, I don't have a choice," she says, even though she knows he doesn't have the capacity to understand this. That everything she's doing is so she can get back to Frannie, that it's not something that can be dealt with by the regular fucking police.

"Yes you do," he argues, as if she can just stop being the target of a kill order.

"Well, I wish that were true," she replies. Because if her choice is between Quinn dying and her on the run or her happy life with Jonas and Frannie, there's not much of decision to make. But she didn't make this decision, doesn't get to choose the outcome.

Carrie knows she shouldn't be pissed off at Jonas, that he's done as much as he can, everything she's asked of him. She always knew that there was a line with him, that maintaining her life with him included hiding facts about herself, certain aspects of her life. That their life together wasn't made to deal with this type of situation. And now he is already way past his comfort zone.

Jonas scoffs, as if he doesn't believe her.

"This is insane," he says. "Assassination attempts, gun battles in the street. You've got to find a way to stop all this, Carrie."

He comes up to her, looks suddenly overcome with emotion.

"I don't want to lose you, I can't lose you," he says, shaking his head sadly. "I thought I had..."

Carrie looks away from him, blinks back tears. It's not like she wanted to lose this thing she had with Jonas, she thinks. But sometimes life throws assassination attempts at you and then you're left to deal with it the best you can. Even if that means abandoning your well-meaning but ill-equipped boyfriend for the moment because he can't understand the facts of the situation.

So she wants to tell him he won't lose her but figures it's better not to lie. Because she can't see how this is going to resolve back into their happy life, doesn't want him to hold onto false hope.

Jonas turns away and Carrie doesn't know what to say or do. A part of her still wants to comfort him, tell him that she doesn't want to lose him either. But mostly she can't think about Jonas, Frannie, her happy Berlin life. Not while Quinn is seriously injured and someone's trying to kill her.

So in the end she doesn't say anything at all, just sits back down next to Quinn. Realizes a line was just drawn in her relationship with Jonas, one he's unwilling to cross. Wonders if it's really the end, if he's done with all of it.

Of course then Carrie can't help but look at Quinn, think how he's crossed every line for her, always come through for her in the end. No matter the cost to himself, how callously she treated him.

So though she should be scared, mourning for her relationship; all Carrie can think about is how worried she is about Quinn, that she really needs him to wake up and be alright.

#

Flashes, dark and light. There, yet not there at all.

Something in his hand. Then again. And another. No pain though, no feeling.

He burns, chills, aches. Sleeps and drifts, hears voices, indistinct.

It's faint, the voices. But it's her, sounding worried.

He wants that to stop, remembers she's supposed to be dead, gone. That it's not safe.

But there's nothing to be done, he has no control. Half asleep, body searing.

Then hands, hers. Over his skin, soapy, soft.

Clean, dry. Cool, deft hands, all around him, gentle, caressing.

A fever dream, he thinks. Surely.

Her touch sizzles against him everywhere it goes, scarifies his skin. It feels like nothing else, ecstatic pain, his every need.

And so he takes it all in, then falls back into the dark.

#

Quinn wakes to a terse discussion between Carrie and some guy he thought he hallucinated, hears the word ambulance and tenses up right away.

Opening his eyes slowly, he has to blink a few extra times to retain focus but eventually he sees Carrie sitting next to him but looking into the other room, talking to the boyfriend she conned into bringing medical supplies for him.

Well, this is unlikely and awkward, Quinn thinks groggily. Especially with him in a position of weakness. Not that it was that sort of situation. Though of course there is the need to assess the guy she chose.

Carrie is still looking into the other room, hasn't noticed that he's awake so Quinn has time to silently evaluate the situation. He can already feel the IV in his hand, isn't burning quite as bright. Still feels weak as shit, barely able to keep his eyes open. But she did a decent job for an amateur, he muses. Always manages to impress.

Self-assessment done, he lets his eyes wander over towards the voice in the other room. Thinks, so this is the guy, her attempt at normalcy. He's yammering on about ambulances and Carrie is obviously just stalling, stonewalling as she does.

Quinn looks over at the boyfriend, suddenly wonders where he left his gun. Then realizes he shouldn't be thinking about shooting Carrie's guy, that she'd be pissed about it.

He gets wrapped up in observing the boyfriend, wondering what she sees in him. And Quinn's easily decided the guy's no threat when he notices too late that Carrie's now looking at him, has caught him watching.

So he doesn't bother to hide it, just gives her the silent 'really?' look.

Carrie smirks, has that gleam in her eye, gives him a conspiratorial glance.

"Don't hurt him, okay?" she says, barely a whisper.

Quinn tries to muffle his laugh but he knows the boyfriend heard because Carrie glances over, flashes a fake contrite look. Then she turns back and gives him a little shrug, a full on smile.

And again his first reaction is that something's wrong, that this isn't actually Carrie looking at him so fondly. But then she puts her hand to his brow and it is definitely her. There is no mistaking her touch, he thinks, before he remembers he's not supposed to want this, think shit like that.

"Hey," she says, still with a soft smile. "Feeling better?"

Quinn nods although he still feels like shit, thinks he still could sleep for another couple days, maybe forever. But he needs to stay conscious, make sure nothing happens to her.

"Yeah, I'm good," he says, though it comes out weaker than expected.

"Sure," Carrie replies, with her 'yeah right' expression. "I'm still waiting on Astrid so you should sleep, Quinn. I promise I won't go anywhere."

That's the problem, he thinks as he tries to stay awake, fight the uselessness of sleep. She shouldn't be here at all. Yet there's absolutely nothing he can do about it, can't win against her even when he's not half-conscious, weak with infection.

And then she gets up from the chair, sits on the bed next to him, her hand resting on his shoulder, her thumb making a pattern in his skin. Fuck, she fights dirty, Quinn thinks, knows he's lost again. Falls asleep under her touch in seconds, thinks this surely can't be real.

#

The next time Quinn wakes it's to the sound of footsteps, heavier than Carrie's. And his automatic reaction is to reach for his weapon, then groans at the pain of movement, the realization that his gun isn't there.

He opens his eyes to see the boyfriend eyeing him suspiciously, figures he should get the jump on the situation.

"Who the fuck are you?" Quinn asks, even though he already knows enough about Jonas Hollander the top tier German lawyer to tail his ex-wife, kidnap his child.

Jonas looks surprised for a second, then pissed off. Turns with a serious look on his face.

"I'm the guy who just saved your life," he says, a bit smartly.

"No, that was all her," Quinn replies, shaking his head. "And I'm not entirely happy about it anyhow."

Now Jonas looks annoyed, scowls.

"So why are you still alive if you don't want to be?" he asks.

"Do you even know her?" Quinn responds, blinks pseudo-innocently. "She's fucking persuasive."

Jonas scowls again and Quinn thinks, mission accomplished. He has a play to make and the boyfriend is the perfect rube. Pissing him off just makes things easier, better entertainment value too.

But of course Carrie wanders back over just then, catches the last of the discussion, their muted expressions of hostility. She looks between them and then gives Quinn her half-scowl half-smile.

"Play nice, Quinn," she admonishes.

Quinn blinks again, pretends he doesn't know what she's talking about.

"I am," he says, all innocence.

Carrie gives him a look that says bullshit, shakes her head knowingly.

"You're not going to convince him I need to be on a train," she states firmly.

Fuck, Quinn thinks. She really does fucking know him. Because that was exactly his play - to goad the boyfriend into it, convince him he's no man unless he makes her leave. Which, he thinks, is both hypocritical and not. Because Quinn knows he's no man, at least not on this issue. Otherwise she would be far gone, him too.

But of course she saw right through it, smirks at her little victory. And he thinks fuck, no wonder he never wins.

"Fuck you, Carrie," he says, in a way they both know he means and doesn't mean.

Carrie smiles, gives him an amused look as she sits down on the bed with him again, Jonas' eyes following her every movement.

"You can't win them all," she says with sassy shrug.

"Sure, gloat about beating the dying guy," Quinn replies with a sigh, lies back tiredly. Just being conscious is exhausting still and he suddenly feels completely drained, ready to sleep again.

Carrie's smile suddenly wipes into a frown at his comment, and she puts her hand on his bare chest, pushes into him.

"Jesus, Quinn. Don't say shit like that," she snaps. "You are not dying."

Maybe not quite yet, he thinks. She's done the best she could, a good job under the circumstances. Saved his life thus far, even against his own inclinations.

So even if Quinn's not entirely thankful for the gift of ongoing existence, he is still overcome by her efforts, sure he doesn't deserve any of it.

"Yeah, thanks to you," he replies, tries to actually sound sincere. She's done more for him than he could ever expect, especially considering how rough he'd been on her. Has been so good to him he feels like shit about it, knows he's unworthy of her care.

Carrie gives him a smile, her hand still pressed against his sternum.

"I would be really fucking sad," she says, little more than a whisper.

Again Quinn thinks he doesn't deserve it, that he has fucked this all up royally. That she should be far away, safe, mourning her lost child. Definitely should not be here worrying about him while her boyfriend watches on.


	13. Chapter 13

Carrie's sitting beside him, giving him that look of concern he can barely handle when Quinn wakes again, blinks his way back into consciousness.

"Hey," she says with a smile.

He can't help but think again that she's being way too good to him, is more worried than she should be. But he also can't deny it means something that she hasn't abandoned him, has done about as much as she can.

"Anything news?" Quinn asks, wonders how long he's been out for.

Carrie shakes her head, keeps looking at him in that way that makes him uncomfortable.

"What?" he finally says, unable to maintain the tension of being watched.

Carrie startles a bit, as if she didn't quite realize she was doing it. Then shrugs and smiles again, exhales loudly in that way she does.

"I'm just glad you're awake," she says with a little shake of her head. "You feeling any better?"

Quinn nods, thinks he isn't exactly lying. He does feel better, yet still pretty fucking shitty. Carrie doesn't need to know that part though, will never leave if she thinks he's dying.

"Yeah, I'm good," he lies, tries to make it sound legit.

Carrie sighs, gives him a skeptical look, that same concerned half-smile. Then looks up as Jonas calls her from the other room, tells her there's something she should see.

She goes over and Quinn can hear the news report on a protest at the Russian embassy, that it somehow involves the documents that got leaked. Then Carrie gets on the phone with Astrid, and he strains to make out what she's saying, hear if they IDed the guy.

Carrie ends the call, seems to have a lead.

"I've been such a fool," she says. "It's been staring me right in the face."

"What has?" he hears Jonas ask. Which echoes Quinn's own thoughts as he becomes suddenly nervous about the energy he hears in her voice.

"Quinn needs to hear this too," Carrie says, thankfully bringing the conversation back towards him, where he can better assess what the hell she's going to do.

"Did you get a name?" he asks as she walks back over.

"Got more than that," she replies in that tone that says she's onto something. "I've got who tried to kill you worked for Russian intelligence - that's who got in the middle of your operation. Saul didn't put my name in that kill box, the Russians did."

"Why?" Quinn asks, can't see what the Russians have anything to do with this whole mess.

"Well, think about it," Carrie says. "The stuff Laura Sutton published last week was only part of what was hacked out of Berlin station."

"So there was something in the additional documents the SVR didn't want you to see," Jonas says, catching on.

Shit, Quinn thinks. Has to admit he didn't see this coming, that the situation is worse than he thought. If it's Russian intelligence out looking for Carrie then she's definitely not safe anywhere in Berlin. Especially if there's someone interested enough to have figured out his system with Saul. And if he knows Carrie at all, she's about to head back out there, try to round up these documents herself, figure out what they didn't want her to see in the first place. Basically put herself at risk in order to become a even larger threat.

She can't go out there alone, he thinks. Needs someone to look out for her, watch her back. And the boyfriend is clearly no operator, would be a liability in almost any situation.

"Correct," Carrie says, that determined tone in her voice.

Quinn struggles to get up, thinks he can at least hold a weapon, feels like he has to do something other than just lie there.

"What are you doing?" Carrie asks, already starting to lean down towards him.

"If you're going back out there again I'm coming with you," he says, tries to make it sound convincing, like he could actually do this.

But by then Carrie's already caught his weakened body in her arms and Quinn already knows he won't win.

"No, hey, hey, hey, Quinn, lie back," she says, easily pushing him back down to the bed.

"It's too dangerous," he mutters, suddenly feverishly sure she's going to get spotted, found out.

"It's not," Carrie replies, forceful yet gentle. "No one's after me at the moment thanks to you."

He knows she's just trying to make him feel better but the truth is he should not be anywhere near a gun in his condition. She holds him to the bed, her hand pressing on his chest and Quinn's already exhausted with his effort but still doesn't want to admit defeat. He exhales in frustration, thinks how he is never going to win with her. Especially when she's being this nice, almost inexplicably so.

"Where's Laura?" Carrie asks, making his anxiety grow. As if just being in Berlin wasn't enough, she's trying to make contact with her original source, Quinn thinks. It makes him fucking nervous even though he knows that Carrie's right, that no one should be looking for her right now.

The boyfriend goes off to call her and Carrie sits down by the bed again, leans down towards him.

"Hey, you gonna be alright?" she asks softly.

Too concerned, he thinks. And not about the right things.

"I'd be better if you'd get the hell out of dodge," he replies, even though he knows she won't. Not until she's either figured it out, exhausted her resources, or ended up dead.

"I can't do that. Not now, " she replies predictably. "We'll talk about it when I get back, okay?"

But Quinn knows that things are going downhill in his own situation, that he's going to have to come up with a plan soon. And he's thinking of all the shit that could go wrong before she makes it back when Carrie stands up, runs her hand through his hair, pats his head gently.

Which is just too much. Quinn looks up at her askance as her fingers drift away, wonders what the hell has gotten into her. Of course he attributes her touchiness with him to his obviously pathetic state, a physical projection of her concern. And so her hands have become the ultimate catch twenty two. So soothing, irresistible. Yet each touch makes him hate himself a little more, reminds him she's there partly for him, that her continued presence in Berlin is entirely on him.

It all just reinforces the idea that he can't win, that he's completely lost when it comes to her. The only thing left of his life, something to die for.

#

Carrie goes to run her fingers through Quinn's fever-soaked hair, is halfway through the gesture when she remembers she's only been doing this while he's out cold, that this is not something she would normally do at all. But she figures what the fuck, does it anyhow, feels almost compelled to touch him. Wants him to know that she really does care, that he has her pretty fucking worried.

She almost smiles to herself, thinks how ridiculous he's being. So Quinn. Trying so hard to be reliable. To protect her. Even when he looks terrible, so weak she can barely stand it. He has always been there for her and now she has to figure this all out, get him well.

He wants her to leave so badly but then how's she ever going to get her life back? And who's going to make sure he doesn't die out of pure stubbornness? She just needs to get her hands on the documents and then get back quickly, make sure he doesn't do anything rash.

But until then she can't leave Quinn on his own, knows she's going to have to ask Jonas to stay. There isn't much choice in the matter, could likely be the last thing she can ask of him after everything she's put him through.

Not that she feels good about leaving Quinn with Jonas, knows this is way the hell out of Jonas' comfort zone. Even part of her still can't believe any of this has happened, that there would be a situation where Jonas would ever even find out about Quinn, much less meet him. All too crazy, as Jonas would say.

But in the end Carrie knows it's just how her life goes, especially when crisis strikes. When she is on the hunt she will manipulate anyone to her advantage, especially a Jonas, such a good guy, easily used. Then bear the consequences later, when the situation has been resolved.

So Jonas hangs up his call, tells her that Laura Sutton is at the Russian Embassy covering the demonstration. And she thinks fuck, this is probably not going to turn out well. Leaving her nice boy Jonas alone with her cold assassin Quinn. Even with a bullet hole in him Quinn could do some damage.

But she doesn't have any choice, tells herself it's just for a few hours. Looks at Jonas and tells herself to be convincing.

"I'm gonna need you to look after him for awhile," she says, ready to argue.

"Carrie..." Jonas groans, in that tone that says he's over it.

"I'll just be a few hours, last thing I will ask you to do, I swear," she continues, over his objections. Gives him her best desperate look, knows he can't possibly leave her in the lurch like this.

And of course Jonas nods, with the saddest look in his eyes. Defeat and concern and anger all together, enough to make her genuinely feel bad for him, regret what she's put him through. It's more self-aware than she usually is about this sort of thing, Carrie realizes. Has previously done shit like this without thinking much about the people she used along the way, even the ones she cared about. Like all those times she pulled Quinn back into the game.

So she gives Jonas a hug, tries to tell him she appreciates everything he's done, that she's sorry he had to be involved. That she knows he can't possibly understand, that he doesn't know this side of her.

Yet this is something she has to do, part of her very DNA. Someone is out to kill her, almost killed Quinn. And no one else can get to the bottom of it, figure it out and save them both. She just hopes there's enough time, that Quinn can hang on until then.


End file.
